Eating Lionfish
by hoorayforicecream
Summary: When the Champion of Kirkwall is taken hostage, the pirate Isabela must mount a rescue mission in a race against time. Can the irresponsible Rivaini save Hawke and still protect the people of Kirkwall from the villain's plans? And if not... which will she choose?
1. Chapter 1

Eating Lionfish, part 1

by hoorayforicecream

_Foreword: Note, there is a scene of implied brutality and violence, especially towards children. Those who cannot stomach the implication would do best not to read this._

The woman woke to the sound of water dripping. She was beautiful, clad only in a white, silken shift. Her hair was dark and glossy, but unruly and mussed from sleep. Her eyes were a deep blue, but seemed to have difficulty focusing. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the hazy feeling that had parked itself firmly between her temples. Her eyes ached, and she squinted in the dim light. She pushed the sheets aside from the bed and tried to remember where she was. Spots of color bloomed in her field of vision, and she fumbled for her clothing. Her skin felt damp, and she shivered in the chilly air.

"My lord, where are you?" she called out. "What's going on?"

"I had such high hopes for this one," a manly baritone voice said from somewhere in the large domed room."A pity. She was so close, but just lacks that special spark. She remains a pale imitation of the real thing."

A rasping, deep voice answered. "It is no matter. The preparations are complete. A gift for you, ser."

The woman rubbed her eyes, willing the pounding behind her eyes to go away. She heard the sound of jingling, or clinking. A gold chain on leather. She had heard the sound many times before.

The rasping voice continued, "The use is simple enough. It will activate them all upon your death. If you wish to detonate one specifically, choose one and break it."

"Excellent. She will be mine soon," said the baritone.

The woman finally looked up, blinking the spots away. In the dim light, she made out a massive painting framed on the wall. The painting was a portrait of a nude, pale-skinned Champion of Kirkwall with piercing blue eyes, soft, shaggy black hair, and a fabulous figure. The painted Champion was stretched out, lounging on a divan in front of a sparkling fountain of water in a picturesque woodland setting. The woman's eyes widened. The mural was not alone - it was surrounded by smaller paintings, of the Champion in different poses. In evening gowns, in battle, reclining at table, walking down stairs, the paintings covered the walls in one large blur. The woman's mouth opened to scream, but her vocal chords seized up and the only sound was a hoarse whisper.

"And my payment?" rasped the other voice.

"This one should serve until it truly begins," laughed the baritone.

The woman tried to scramble, to escape, but large, strong hands grasped her body and dragged her from the bed. The raspy voice laughed, a cold, cruel sound. Pain exploded in white hot shards along her back as she finally found her voice and began to scream.

* * *

"Oh, thank you, Champion! Thank you!" exclaimed a joyful mother as she embraced her young son. The Champion smiled, as the other children reunited with their tearful parents, commoner and nobles alike, in the main hall of the Viscount's Keep.

"I'm just glad that we were able to bring them back safely. Without my companions, I'd never have found the right ship before it sailed," mused the Champion. Hawke stepped back next to Aveline, watching the happy families.

"How on earth did you convince Isabela to help find the right boat? I always thought she hated children," whispered Aveline.

"Ship, Aveline," corrected Hawke. "And she doesn't, no thanks to your antics a few months back. Quite a few of the little girls were thrilled that they had been saved by 'Princess Isabel'. Let's just say that I owe her one, and that she intends to collect very soon."

"I'd pity you, but I think some of her depravity's started to rub off on you. Nonetheless, a job well done. Another batch of slavers that the city won't need to deal with, and another pouch of coin you can pick up once the paperwork's been done," sighed Aveline. "Take care, Hawke, and tell the whore I said hello."

The Champion turned to leave, before a shadowy shape appeared to her left. She turned quickly to face the figure, a feeling of vague uneasiness causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. The shadow belonged to a nobleman she had seen around Hightown, a wealthy Orlesian lord from near Nevarra.

"Well met, Champion," the nobleman greeted, grinning with even, white teeth. He was a handsome man, built with a barrel chest, and an immaculately trimmed black beard. His green eyes sparkled with intelligence, and his brightly colored green doublet was covered with layer upon layer of intricate embroidery and lace. Golden earrings dangled from his ears, and he wore a large golden medallion decorated with differently-colored jewels each the size of Hawke's thumbnail. One of the jewels was notably missing from its setting. His shoulder-length black hair had been pulled back in a ponytail bound in a lace ribbon, and he stood with the easy stance of a man used to getting what he wanted. He shifted slightly, placing one hand on the jewel-encrusted pommel of the thin, straight sword he wore at his waist. He looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Well met, Lord du Gaudet," replied Hawke, inclining her head slightly.

"It was a wonderful thing you did for these families. The city of Kirkwall is once again in your debt," he said grandly. "I would be honored if you would attend my autumn ball a week hence. It will be held in my manor home, just north of the city. All of the finest families will be attending, and you would make me the envy of Kirkwall by escorting me."

Hawke took a deep breath and barely managed to fight back the desire to roll her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lord du Gaudet, but I am afraid I am otherwise occupied that night," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. His smile never faltered, but a brief emotion flashed across his eyes... it looked like irritation. But it vanished just as quickly as it arrived, and the smarmy, inviting glint returned to those hard, emerald irises.

"Forgive me, Champion. I did not mean to overstep my bounds. I just wish to show you the gratitude of the city... and my family," he soothed, bowing with a flourish and sweeping his magnificent feathered cap off of his head for emphasis.

"I'm very thankful. Perhaps another time," nodded the Champion, waving goodbye. "Farewell, Lord du Gaudet."

"Until we meet again, my lovely Champion," smiled the nobleman as the Fereldan woman departed.

* * *

Hawke hurried home, offering curt pleasantries and silent waves to the nobles and guardsmen who bade her goodbye as she strolled down the Viscount's Way. She pushed her door open and entered her home, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine outside. She hung her overcoat on a peg in the foyer, then moved on into the living room. Stretching, she gave a contented sigh before she felt hands on her hips. They pressed with gentle pressure, and Hawke felt a warm breeze tickle her right earlobe. She smiled and placed one hand on the warm fingers pressing themselves to her side.

"Bodahn never welcomes me back home like this," murmured the Champion, as Isabela began nuzzling at her neck.

"Bodahn is missing out," breathed her lover, gently pressing herself against Hawke's back. The warmth spread through the Fereldan woman palpably, relaxing her tension away. The pressure was insistent, and Hawke began taking small steps toward the stairwell.

Hawke sniffed the air, detecting a curious scent. "Is that... mulled wine I smell?" she asked.

"Perhaps it is," said the pirate, while continuing to nuzzle. She lowered her hands to Hawke's rear and gently squeezed, while continuing to push the Champion up the stairs.

Hawke smiled and leaned back for a moment, reaching behind her and placing a reassuring hand on the corsair's wrist. "What do you want, Isabela? Shall I fetch the leash and bananas?" she smiled as she reached for the door to her bedroom.

Isabela paused her ministrations for a moment and chuckled, before resuming. "Is it that obvious?"

"I _know_ you. Is it to be the riding crop then?" giggled Hawke.

"I do love how your mind works. But no, you're distracting me from my true purpose while I'm supposed to be distracting _you_," muttered the pirate, as she pushed her lover through the door and backward onto the bed.

"You're doing a pretty decent job of it," nodded the Champion, pulling off her tunic and casting it aside. The pirate sauntered forward, sashaying her hips from side to side as she unlaced her corset and straddled her lover on the bed.

"That's the last I want to hear out of you for at least an hour," Isabela commanded.

* * *

Isabela propped her cheek on one palm as she lay on her side, a lazy, firm smile affixed to her face. She brushed her disheveled hair back, and breathed deeply. The air in the room felt cool against her sweat-slicked skin, a tickling reminder of the strenuous activity that had just taken place. The grinning captain ran her fingers up and down the other woman's arm.

The slender figure of her lover lay before her, gasping for breath and still unable to form complete words. Isabela smiled a bit wider and entwined their fingers.

"That... that was... whew..." gasped Hawke, finally getting her breathing under control.

"I thought you'd like it," grinned the captain. "I just didn't know how much."

"I can't tell you how much I needed that, Isabela. Thank you," breathed the Champion, snuggling closer.

"Rough day, sweet thing?" asked the corsair.

"Just a lot of bottled stress. Nobles who believe the world revolves around them, merchants with business propositions, and people who cannot live without my help," sighed Hawke, squeezing Isabela's hand gently.

Isabela's smile slipped from her face at her bedmate's last comment. "People asking for help _are_ bothersome, aren't they?" she mused quietly.

"Oh, you know I don't mean that. I just do what I can, and wish they wouldn't assume that their concern is the earth-shattering matter I absolutely must make my priority," sighed Hawke.

"Even your friends?" murmured the pirate.

"Of course not. My friends have a special place in my heart," replied the Champion, closing her eyes.

"I'd like to think I have a slightly more special place than that," smirked Isabela.

"Out with it, Isabela," sighed Hawke. "You know that I'd turn the city upside down for you. Why are you buttering me up? What did you need?"

"While the idea of you slathered in butter is incredibly appealing, I need you for something else," the dusky rogue replied. "A friend of mine has gone missing, and I hoped you could help me find her."

"Of course, why would you be so careful about asking me for help with something like this?" asked the Champion

Isabela took a moment to carefully choose her words. "She's a prostitute."

"Is she a friend?" began Hawke warily, letting go of her lover's hand. "Or a... _friend_?"

The pirate laughed merrily. "Hawke, you may have noticed that you're the only _friend_ I've spent any quality time with in ages. She and I are friends that met for different reasons than you might think."

Hawke thrust out her lower lip, pouting. "If it wasn't sex, then what was it?" she asked grumpily.

The dusky rogue actually blushed before continuing. "Jillian is... how do I put this? She came to me to ask what _you_ were like."

"Me? What would a courtesan wish to know about _me_?" asked the Champion.

"Sweet thing, you have to realize how much of a prize you are," smiled Isabela, pressing her palm to her bedmate's cheek. Noting Hawke's confused look, she continued, "You're absolutely stunning. Possessed of beauty that inspires people. Strength that is the envy of nations. You're wealthy. You're successful. Everyone in Kirkwall looks to you for guidance."

"Yes, we've established how much fun _that_ is," muttered the Champion, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and leaning back.

"The legend, the very _idea_ of the Champion is immensely appealing," continued the buccaneer, turning Hawke's face toward hers. Her voice dropped low and throaty. "On _many_ levels."

Hawke's eyes met the dusky pirate's. They widened as Hawke came to a realization. "You don't mean..."

Isabela grinned wickedly. "I _do_ mean. I am but one of _many_ people in Kirkwall who wish you were in their beds," she said. "I just happen to be the lucky one who _gets_ you," she said.

"I still don't understand, what does a friendly prostitute have to do with me?" asked Hawke, blushing.

"Jillian happens to be blessed with a marvelously slender figure, smooth and silky skin, piercing blue eyes, and wonderfully black hair," answered Isabela.

Hawke's eyes widened even further. "You mean she..."

"Not just her, sweet thing. Down at the Rose, they have a veritable _bevy_ of dark haired, blue-eyed, creamy skinned ladies in waiting. And they're all quite popular, too." The pirate went on, "Jillian wished to know more about the real Champion of Kirkwall, and so she asked for my help. She wanted to give a more authentic performance."

"You taught her to be like me?" asked Hawke, incredulous. She narrowed her eyes. "Even..."

"Not _exactly_ like you. But I helped fill in some of the details," said the pirate.

Her lover looked at her sharply.

"What? You can't expect to do _that_ to a girl night after night and not expect her to brag at least a _little_ bit," Isabela said defensively. She sighed, and spoke in a very quiet voice. "This isn't how I envisioned this conversation going. Hawke, some of the other girls at the Rose have asked me for help. Jillian's disappeared, and she's the third girl who's vanished in the past month. They're frightened, Hawke. I need you with me on this. Will you help?"

"Of course I'll help. What's the plan?" asked the Champion. "There is a plan, right?"

"We can start by asking the girls," began the captain. "They must have seen something. They should all be at the Rose tonight."

"That sounds like a fine beginning," nodded Hawke. "We'll go in the evening, just after sunset. We've a few hours till then."

The dusky pirate smiled at her lover with a half-lidded gaze. She looked exceptionally smug.

Hawke sighed and shook her head, but she could not hide the grin on her face. "I know that look. You get the riding crop, and I'll get the butter?"

* * *

The Blooming Rose was bustling with activity when Hawke arrived with Isabela. Each table at the brothel's tavern was occupied by laughing patrons and smiling courtesans. The Champion followed her partner silently, as the pirate sauntered through the revelry. Hawke strode confidently, but the feeling of uneasiness crept silently up her spine as she walked toward the bar. She felt a bit jealous of how easy-going Isabela was about all of this; the circumstances that surrounded their visit to the Rose made her feel a little intimidated. The captain leading the way, on the other hand, was comfortable as a duck in water. She was positively radiant, waving and smiling at friendly faces in the crowd. Hawke's breath caught and her cheeks colored at the sight. The corsair made her way to the bar, where Madame Lusine beckoned them closer with a broad smile.

"Captain Isabela, my dear, where _have_ you been? All of the girls and boys have been asking for you. You only come by to drink these days. Surely your new lover can't be _that_ good!" greeted the madam.

"Oh no, not just good. _Better_," laughed Isabela, waggling two fingers at the bartender. The mustachioed man nodded and reached below the bar, withdrawing a dark bottle of unknown vintage.

Hawke craned her neck to try to hear over the din of the patrons.

"So, are you not here to partake of our services? You're still paid up through the end of the year. Why don't you bring her with you?" suggested Madame Lusine.

"While the idea does have merit, I'm just here to speak with the girls tonight," replied the grinning pirate.

The Champion was so focused on trying to hear that she didn't notice the movement beside her. A fat-fingered hand wrapped itself around her wrist and pulled her roughly to one side. She looked at the owner. A bleary-eyed heavy-set man dressed in orange silks and gold jewelry towered over her, a leer firmly affixed to his face. His sausage-sized fingers were covered in bejeweled rings, and his thick, gray beard reached his chest. He exhaled, and the stench of sour gin on his breath was so strong Hawke had to fight to keep from gagging.

"Alright, I'm choosing you tonight my pretty Champion," he laughed, pulling her toward him with a grin. She tried to shake him off, but the man's grip was like a gold-colored vise.

"Dear Maker, your breath could curdle water!" gasped Hawke, disgusted. She pulled at his hold unsuccessfully, and looked about frantically for some help. The Fereldan caught Isabela's eyes, and the pirate turned quickly toward her. "What have they been _feeding_ you!"

"Yes, yes, you're going to be a good Champion for me tonight," the man cackled, hauling her toward the stairs. She struggled to break free, but his iron grip held her firm. She cast about, looking for some way to get him to release her without having to hurt him.

"Hold it right there!" called Isabela's voice. It was strong and firm, and cut through the chatter of the tavern like her blade through butter. Even her captor stopped to look. All eyes were on the pirate, and she relished the attention. Her hips swayed gently as she swaggered to the pair, and her lips broke into a mischievous grin as she ran a gentle hand up Hawke's neck to her cheek. "This one is mine tonight," she declared.

"Hey now, I saw her first!" rumbled the burly man.

"I was getting drinks," replied the corsair blandly, raising two crystal goblets in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Besides, you don't want this one. She's got a mouth on her, and not in the good way," she continued.

"I do _not_!" exclaimed Hawke. "Just get me out of this now!"

"See what I mean? Always with the _demanding_, and the _nagging_," soothed the pirate. Some of the crowd chuckled. "On top of it all, I think she's touched in the head. Really believes she's the Champion of Kirkwall," added the dusky rogue.

"I _am_ the Champion of Kirkwall! Let go of me!" grated the Champion. Even the brawny captor began to laugh.

"Thankfully," continued the captain, "I have other uses for that sharp tongue of hers. So let me return to my entertainments for the night, hmm? I've booked the dragon room, and I'd hate to see it go to waste."

The man loosened his hand, and Hawke quickly freed herself. She backed away from him, only to bump into Isabela's soft front.

"If you want a good Champion experience, I'd suggest Mirabelle. She'll Champion your cause all night long," winked the captain, grabbing the sputtering Hawke by the belt buckle and pulling her up the stairs.

* * *

"_Nagging_? Really, Isabela?" complained Hawke, crossing her arms under her breasts. She pouted, thrusting her lip out again.

"Come on Hawke, it was just to get that drunkard to let go without having to explain to the ball-breaker of a guard captain why we went ahead and cut up _another_ nobleman," soothed the pirate.

"She was a bit angry at the last one we beat up, wasn't she?" sighed the Champion, as she sat down on the canopied bed.

"It was his own fault. He shouldn't have been trying to sell his servants into slavery," reasoned the pirate as she threw herself onto the bed next to her lover. She rolled onto her belly and began playing with the quilt stitching. "I've asked for Lianne, she was always the chattiest one. She's got a mouth on her worse than any sailor I know, but her information's always good. She'll be here soon," she added, picking at a woolen rose.

"Really? How bad could she be?" mused the Champion. Her only reply was a knowing smile.

Hawke leaned back on her elbows and looked over at the corsair, who remained engrossed in the stitchwork of the quilt. From time to time, Isabela would rub her shoulder, then resume playing with the patterns. Hawke smiled to herself and straddled Isabela's lower back.

"What are you-" began Isabela, starting to turn over, but Hawke placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Oh. Oooh. _Oooooooh_," she moaned as Hawke began massaging her shoulders and back with strong fingers. The Champion pressed and rubbed the knots in her lover's muscles, as Isabela relaxed and became more and more pliant. The pirate folded her arms and lay her chin on them, a warm smile firmly affixed to her face.

As Hawke kneaded her back, the captain would occasionally give a low, throaty moan, encouraging the Champion to press further. Hawke worked her way across the pirate's shoulders, then down between her shoulder blades, releasing the knots she found on her way down.

"Oh, I had not realized that you already had someone, Captain Isabela," a woman's voice called from the door. Two pairs of eyes looked to the doorway, where a slender girl stood. Her shaggy black hair was dull, rather than glossy, and her blonde roots had started to grow out, but her dark blue eyes sparkled and she had a strong look on her angular face. She wore silks, the same sort that Hawke liked to wear at home, but with the Blooming Rose emblem on her breast, and the front was cut wide to emphasize her bosom. The skirt was cut higher, with a slit up one side to emphasize her legs. She narrowed her eyes, looking Hawke up and down as if sizing her up, and put her hands on her hips.

Hawke stopped her massaging and stood, eliciting a small whimper from Isabela. The captain stretched like a cat before rising to a sitting position on the bed.

"Are you double booking tonight, Captain? Madame Lusine didn't say that the new girl would be here as well," Lianne said, still eyeing Hawke critically. "She's a little wide in the ass and her breasts aren't big enough, but the hair and eye color's right. How's her attitude?"

"I beg your pardon? I didn't come here to be examined like a horse at auction!" exclaimed Hawke indignantly.

"Oh, that's good. The real Champion's got a bit of a stick up her ass too, this one'll do fine. How's she on her back?" continued Lianne.

"Oh, she is _fantastic_," giggled Isabela, watching Hawke redden. "And I think her tits and ass are perfectly sized. Her tunic just isn't very flattering, that's all."

"I see what you mean," nodded the harlot, looking the Fereldan up and down appreciatively. "Is this outfit home-made? Why isn't she wearing the Rose's costume? No matter, she'll get one soon enough. So are we getting on with it, Captain? What do you fancy tonight? One on each side? Nevarran Cowgirl? Orlesian Bakeshop?" asked Lianne as she stripped her tunic off, revealing her bare breasts.

"Just some information, Lianne. You won't be getting any rug burns from me tonight," replied Isabela.

"Just information? I heard you had finally come back and asked for me by name. You'd always treated me kindly before," the whore said, almost wistfully. "I was hoping you'd bend me over and have me eat the honeyed walnuts tonight."

"We just need information," said Hawke a little tightly, her cheeks blooming with color.

"We?" asked Lianne, raising an eyebrow. She looked at Isabela, confused.

Isabela's grin never left her face. She nodded briefly, glancing at Hawke.

"We," declared Hawke, planting one fist on her hip.

Lianne's eyes widened, and she stumbled back, falling into a plush chair. "Andraste's flaming pubic hairs, I'm sorry Champion! I misspoke, please don't tell Madame Lusine!" she blurted, beginning to cry.

Hawke softened and looked at Isabela.

"You do have that effect on people sometimes," quipped the captain, winking. "Relax, Lianne. We won't tell anyone."

Lianne continued to ramble, "I didn't mean it... I mean I had heard rumors that Captain Isabela had taken up fingering the Champion's giblets, but nobody really quite believed it, you know? There were also rumors that the Champion had been stuffing the corn into the captain of the guard, or flogging the pink pony with one of a dozen noblemen, or that she was even a mage on the run from the Templars. You just listen to the rumors, you don't believe them, right?"

"I've heard that she does this trick with her tongue you wouldn't believe," smirked the sea captain.

"As fascinating as my love life is for everyone to speculate over, there is another matter at hand. Jillian is missing. What do you know about her?" asked Hawke, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

Lianne took a few deep breaths before composing herself. Hawke retrieved the sniffling woman's tunic and handed it to her. She quickly covered herself, shivering slightly, before beginning.

"Jillian was more popular than a one-legged whore that spat perfume out of her peach pit. She almost always had a queue of clients waiting for her every night. Her 'Champion' act brought the nobles' weapons to bear better than the actual Champion," began Lianne.

Hawke exhaled sharply.

"Make no mistake, Champion. What I mean is that she's playing the romantic fantasy of you. The sort of elaborate character you'd see in a story, or those pulpy serial stories like 'Hard in Hightown'. She's strong-willed, but vulnerable. She's courageous, but demure. And most important, she knows when the clients wish her to be dominant or submissive. She could make them want to bend her over and stuff her like a Feastday turkey, or lick her toes and beg for a spanking," the whore continued. "The nobles, the men especially, love it when their Champion acts tough until they start brandishing their royal scepters."

Isabela burst into laughter. "They don't know you at all, do they?" she giggled.

"Shush, you," grinned Hawke. "So what happened to her before she disappeared? Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"She was always the most popular. So much so that the other girls started getting jealous. I noticed that she started wearing more jewelry. Golden earrings here, a bracelet there, a shiny necklace with jewels. I thought that she was working on the side, maybe she had some rich patron filling her flesh purse with shinies," answered Lianne. She thought for a moment. "There are three clients whom she made the four-armed abomination with most regularly. Compte Mont-Renaud, Comptesse La Croix, and Lord du Gaudet."

"Did you just say Lord du Gaudet?" asked Hawke, putting hand to chin.

"Something the matter, sweet thing?" Isabela inquired.

"He tried to invite me earlier today to a ball he was hosting next week. He was very insistent," answered the Champion. "I didn't pay it much heed at the time, but it might be important. Lianne, did you confront her about the jewelry?"

The whore nodded and finished dressing. As she draped her tunic across her chest, she began, "I asked, but the bitch refused to tell me. Madame Lusine frowns on us moonlighting apart from our time here at the Rose. I got suspicious, so I followed her one morning, after we both got off shift. She didn't go home... she met with a cloaked stranger who looked very familiar with her. He was all touching her, rubbing her shoulder, things like that. She went with him, and they went into Darktown. I tried to follow them, but I lost my nerve. That's all I know."

Hawke shared a glance with Isabela before saying, "We should probably go look for any signs of her in Darktown, then. Thanks for your help, Lianne."

"Are you sure you don't wish to try a Nevarran Cowgirl, Champion? I'm... interested in seeing if those _other_ rumors are true," asked Lianne.

"Other rumors?" asked Hawke, raising an eyebrow at the dusky rogue.

"Oh, they _are_," laughed Isabela from the bed. "Especially the one about the tongue."

"No thank you, Lianne. We'll see ourselves out," replied the Champion, raising her hands.

"Pity," Lianne sighed. "Now you've got me curious."

As Lianne gathered herself and left the room, Hawke reached her hand out. Isabela took it and Hawke helped the pirate to her feet. "So," Hawke began, "We should probably bring in a few others for this."

The captain held the door open for her lover, and said "I'm guessing you want to bring Messere Man-chin along."

"It is a missing person. Aveline will want to know," nodded Hawke, as they walked down the steps. "And one more, I think."

Isabela glanced at her and sighed. "Does it have to be _him_? Can't we bring Kitten or Varric along instead?" she asked.

"Nobody knows Darktown better than he does, and the patients at his clinic may have seen something. A bejeweled woman and a cloaked man are probably fairly memorable," replied Hawke.

"I know, I just... " the pirate sighed in frustration. "Never mind. You're right. We need to find Jillian."

Hawke took Isabela's hand in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. "Come on. It's too late to get the others tonight. Let's get some rest and start early tomorrow morning."

"I'm all for starting early, sweet thing, but tonight we're going back to your place and you are finishing what you started before Lianne arrived," smirked the captain, pulling Hawke toward the doorway.

"Whatever my lady desires," Hawke replied grandly.

* * *

"Remind me again why I am helping the whore look for other whores in the sewers?" grumbled Aveline as they walked through the dimly lit corridors of Darktown toward the clinic. "Will she be rejoining the whore hive? Perhaps assume her rightful place as queen? Lead the other whores into a golden age of enlightenment and itching?"

"Aww, did someone fall into the chamber pot again this morning while still half-asleep?" cooed the pirate.

"You do seem particularly sharp-tongued this morning, Aveline," added Hawke. "I hadn't expected the sniping to begin until after we arrived at the clinic."

"I... it's nothing, Hawke," the armored woman answered, looking away.

"What's nothing?" asked a male voice. Anders stood in the doorway of his clinic, hefting his staff in the sling on his back. "Hawke, Aveline, Isabela," he acknowledged each of the women with a nod of the head.

"Never you mind. We're here because Hawke's investigating some missing women from Hightown," announced Aveline.

"And you think they've come down here? Who are they?" asked the mage, scratching at his stubble.

"We're looking for prostitutes from the Blooming Rose. The most recent victim was last seen meeting with a cloaked stranger, and was tailed into Darktown," explained the Champion.

"That sounds familiar. I had heard rumors of well-dressed women coming down to Darktown - they're a rarity down here, after all. I hadn't looked for myself, but they were spotted near the sewers in lower Darktown, south of Carta territory," Anders said. "I remembered I took care to avoid the area. No point in inviting more scrutiny down here than necessary, right?"

"Come on, Hawke. Let's go," said the pirate shortly, hooking her arm around Hawke's and pulling her away from the mage.

Anders watched as the two walked on ahead, before looking at Aveline. "Well that was rude," he said.

Aveline sniffed. "Calling her an ungrateful, undeserving whore in front of Hawke that last time hasn't exactly endeared you to her," she said as she moved to follow.

"But you call her an ungrateful whore all the time!" argued Anders, huffing to catch up with her. "And how did you know I called her that? Did Hawke tell you?"

"No, Hawke didn't tell me. She did," sighed Aveline.

"But I thought you two couldn't stand each other!" Anders exclaimed.

The warrior did not reply but merely kept pace and glanced carefully from side to side, mindful of the side tunnels.

"I don't understand what the big deal is. Isabela's like a side dish, she just comes with a meal. You know that," said Anders.

"Perhaps Hawke might disagree," replied Aveline evenly. "They've always been practically inseparable."

"When Isabela's actually staying around, perhaps. And look where it's gotten Hawke. Attacked by Raiders, buried in a cave-in, in a duel with the Arishok, in conflict with the Imperium and the Qunari... Hawke deserves better," he went on.

Aveline scowled, but kept her silence.

"I'm only telling the truth, you know. She'll eventually get tired of Hawke and move on, or she'll just leave like she did years ago," he continued.

"And you think that this is a good thing?" asked the redhead. "If she were to leave again, Hawke would be devastated."

"For a time, perhaps. But Hawke's tough. With the right person to comfort her, she'd recover. Someone to show her real love and devotion," he mused.

The guard captain stopped abruptly. Anders nearly bumped into her armored frame as she turned to face him.

"Meaning you?" asked Aveline, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"I... I just... well, that's up to Hawke to decide, isn't it? Surely she'll see that I've always been there for her," said Anders.

The armored guardswoman gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed Anders by the collar. She yanked his face to hers, and glared directly at him. "I don't think you understand, Anders. You like these grand romantic gestures, but you miss what is right in front of your own eyes. When Leandra died, did you go and comfort Hawke?"

"I... I didn't want to intrude... It was very a personal matter, I wanted to find the right time-" he began.

"Isabela did. I know, because she asked for my advice before going," replied Aveline evenly. "Did you ever ask Isabela why she left?"

"Wasn't it obvious? She was just scared of being tied down. I bet the thought of staying with someone as long as she had scared her right into the nearest brothel," he snapped.

"She _left_ because she feared that Castillon would kill Hawke after she gave the relic to the Qunari. Many of her old friends had all been killed, and she feared Hawke was next," continued Aveline. "Did you know _why_ they got buried in that mountainside?"

"Chasing some stupid treasure, no doubt," sniffed Anders.

"She planned the entire excursion for Hawke. The whore planned the entire thing because she was afraid Hawke was burning herself out with her Champion duties. What have you done to help lighten that burden?" asked the guard captain.

"I've... the plight of mages has occupied my time. It is larger than just one person. You can't just expect-" stuttered the mage.

"Yes, yes, the plight of mages. We know," sighed Aveline, releasing him. She furrowed her brow, and closed her eyes."But do you really think that you can wholly focus on both Hawke and the mage issues? Do you really think there's any sort of future in this for Hawke?"

"I..." began the mage, but he trailed off. He looked at her helplessly.

"She's already told me about their plans to sail the world together, after Hawke agreed to join her on her ship," said Aveline flatly.

"Hawke agreed... to what?" asked Anders, seemingly dazed. "How do you know all this? I've heard you speak to Isabela, you can't stand her!"

"If you don't even understand that, you'll never know why Hawke chose Isabela over you," she said with finality. She brushed by him, and resumed walking.

Anders stood for a moment and watched her form grow distant, concern etched on his face. He felt a familiar itch in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it.

"Have I really been so blind?" he whispered to himself.

THIS IS A DISTRACTION.

The itch grew stronger, and spread down his neck and across his back like a warm breeze.

"But... how could I have missed these things?" he asked.

THEY DID NOT MATTER. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

Each thought was punctuated by a small burst of blue light in front of his eyes.

"She understands our plight though! She helped me with my manifesto!" he argued.

SHE WILL NEVER TRULY UNDERSTAND US. SHE WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THE CAUSE. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

The bursts of light helped bring the world into better focus, throwing the grimy surroundings into sharp relief.

"But..." he stammered.

WE KNEW THERE WOULD BE SACRIFICES. WE MUST NOT WAVER. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

The anxiety slowly drained from his body, and he exhaled. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. The feeling of peace washed over him, and the world felt like it was in harmony again. A tickle went up his spine, the same feeling whenever Justice recognized something he didn't.

LOOK.

Anders looked at his feet. His right shoe was stained with some sort of white powder. He touched it with two fingers and examined them. The powder was actually made up of tiny crystals. He rubbed the crystals between his thumb and index finger, remembering the passages in the Qunari texts he had managed to cobble together. He couldn't quite remember what it was, but something clicked in the back of his mind.

THIS MAY BE USEFUL TO THE CAUSE.

The tickle in the back of his mind flexed, and dispersed. Anders blinked.

"Anders, we've found something. Come on," commanded Aveline from far ahead. Anders, jolted out of his reverie, wiped his hands on his pants and hurried to catch up. As he rounded the corner, he saw the pirate squatting on her heels, examining several large rotted planks lashed together and leaning against the wall. The Champion stood a short distance back, looking over Isabela's shoulder carefully, while Aveline stood with shield drawn, vigilant for enemies.

"Is it very complicated?" asked Hawke.

"Just give me a moment. You're such a slave driver," she said with a smirk, as she slid a long, thin blade from her boot. She flicked the blade almost imperceptibly near the doorway once, twice, and a third time, cutting nearly-invisible triggering mechanisms before replacing the blade back in her boot. She rose and gave the planks a gentle push; the rotting wood fell inward, revealing a hidden passage behind them. "You happy now?"

"I would be if I knew what you just did," shrugged Hawke.

"Tripwire that activates poisoned needles in your foot when you open the door. Next time I can let the trap bite you in the ass, if you prefer. I hear fleshrot poison is quite popular these days," said the sea captain, standing up. She glanced over her shoulder at Anders, and the smile melted from her face. "Let's move on, sweet thing" she said, disappearing into the tunnel.

The Fereldan woman waved the others to follow, and entered the corridor herself. The narrow passageway had a low ceiling, forcing Hawke to crouch down to get through. As she stepped through the tunnel, she noticed a tingle in her nose. It was slight to begin with, a tickling sensation that smelled very slightly sour. It didn't stand out among the other, more disgusting odors, but the scent grew stronger and more acrid. The tingling in her sinuses grew as she approached a turn in the tunnel. Her vision began clouding over, and she felt unsteady on her feet. She held up a fist, and she heard the movement behind her stop. She wobbled for a moment, and the world went topsy turvy. The floor started to melt into strange, globular shapes. She dropped to her knees, before strong, steady hands were at her shoulders and back.

Hawke coughed as the hands pressed something wet to her lips. Cloth of some sort, damp and still warm. She recognized the aroma, it still smelled strongly of the pirate. The hands quickly tied the fabric around her mouth, then massaged her back gently until she took a breath. The woozy feeling in her head immediately began to clear, but she felt a creeping sense of warmth radiate from her chest. She looked up, confused.

"Come on," commanded Isabela, through the blue bandana tied around her nose and mouth. "Cover your noses and mouths before you start stabbing each other. It's that same Qunari poison gas," she called.

The unsteady Champion laughed a bit to herself as she leaned against the pirate. Isabela's tunic draped loosely about her rear; the waist sash that usually held it in place was missing. She glanced behind her, noting Aveline and Anders raising scarves to their faces. She stood and let the swarthy captain lead her forward.

The pirate hefted one of Hawke's arms around her shoulders and helped her hobble to her feet. The two women moved as quickly as the Champion could. Isabela pointed at the floor, where the corpse of a dark-haired woman lay sprawled out and face down. A pool of blood had dried and stained the ground black about her pale skin. More darkened stains were spattered on the walls. The corsair knelt to examine the body, turning it over to look at the corpse's face.

Hawke looked at the kneeling buccaneer questioningly. The pirate nodded her head.

"It's her. It looks like she died from a gut wound. She didn't die quickly," said Isabela grimly, quickly searching the body. She slid a small knife out of her boot and cut the chain on the woman's necklace. She tossed the bejeweled amulet to Hawke. "She won't be needing this anymore. Come on, there's a door up ahead."

The door had nearly been torn from its hinges, and hung awkwardly. The wood had deep scratches running its length, and there was dried blood in the grooves. A heavy padlock lay smashed near the portal. There was blood on the lock. The pirate pulled the door to one side, and raised a hand to her mouth in horror at the sight that greeted her.

Corpses covered the floor, many of them dead in the throes of violence. Sticks, boards, and other crude clubs were clutched in several bloodied hands, and many of the bodies had large bruises and crushed limbs. Many of them were women, four had short dark hair with fair skin, and bright blue eyes. Her breath caught when she saw the children. Fierce grimaces were still affixed to their faces even in death, and brutal bite and claw marks dotted their bodies. She involuntarily stepped backward, bumping into the woman behind her.

Hawke placed a reassuring hand on Isabela's shoulder, and the two exchanged a significant glance.

"The gas didn't have anywhere to go, they were all locked in here," the captain whispered, taking Hawke's hand in hers. "It made them kill each other."

"The Arishok said that the gas drives people mad, makes them kill each other in a frenzy. These people tried to escape. Someone did all of this _intentionally_," Hawke replied grimly.

"These people deserve better than this. _She_ deserved better than this," said Isabela. "Burn it down, Hawke. Burn it all down."

* * *

"The fire should be contained within the compound," said Aveline, arms folded. She stood, watching the pyre burn from a distance. "Everything should be safe."

"The flames should consume the gas too. After the fire dies out, this place should be safe again," added Anders, squatting and mopping his face with his handkerchief.

"Who would do such a thing?" asked Hawke aloud. "What would anyone have to possibly gain from killing a group of men, women and children?"

Isabela sighed as she leaned against a wall. "Does it matter? They've died. It's terrible, but it's done with," she mused. "We should just be glad that _we_ didn't fall prey to the blighted gas and start stabbing each other."

"Always looking on the bright side. Did you at least find any clues on the bodies?" grumbled Aveline.

"Just this," replied the swashbuckler, holding up the amulet she had retrieved. A beautiful gold medallion with small rubies set in the face in the shape of the Amell crest dangled on the end of the gold chain. The silhouette of the city of Kirkwall was etched into the face of the medallion. On the rear side of the amulet, the words "_For my Champion_" were engraved in flowing script.

Hawke took it from the pirate and examined it. "It looks like my family seal. But I don't remember mother ever having anything like this before," she said, frowning. "Why would this be among the dead? A thief?"

"No. It's not from your fortune, sweet thing. Look at the inscription," said the pirate. She pointed at the script on the golden necklace. "Think about who we found it on. There must be some connection between whoever did this and Jillian. There's no way she would have worn jewelry like this in Darktown without reprisal."

"You're being awfully cavalier about this. Wasn't she your friend?" accused Anders, getting to his feet. "Don't you want to see justice done? Don't you want her death avenged?"

"She's dead. Nothing you or I do will bring her back," Isabela replied, shrugging. She turned to leave. "Catch her killer or not, she'll never be there to appreciate it."

* * *

The world was pleasantly spinning. The low roar of the bar patrons had melted into a gentle rushing sound, and the only thing Isabela could see clearly was the bottle of blue Llomerynn whiskey in front of her. Her head felt pleasantly warm, and her cheeks were flushed dark from the alcohol. The effects were helping, those annoying feelings of fear and loss had dulled to a small, uncomfortable lump in the back of her head. She no longer saw face after face of pallid, lifeless images of her lover's when she closed her eyes. All that remained was to get to bed and pleasure herself until her body forgot the disgusting, roiling feeling deep in her innards. Had the circumstances been different, she would have found a lover for the night; anyone would do. But those feelings belonged to a different Isabela, one who seemed a lifetime away. She craved physical satisfaction, however, and was looking forward to getting it one way or another.

The other patrons gave her a wide berth; when she had started, they had crowded around like normal. A few contusions and bruises convinced them to leave her be. She leaned on the bar and unsteadily raised her cup to her lips again. She tilted the cup up, but the contents were dry. Confused, the pirate peered into the mug to verify it was indeed empty, before uncorking the bottle and pouring the last of the liquid into the cup. She was about to quaff its contents when a slender gloved hand deftly plucked the tumbler from her grasp. She stared at her hand for a moment, as if she couldn't quite believe that the mug was missing, before turning to see who had dared to take her drink from her.

"I thought I'd find you here," Hawke said, putting the empty tankard down on the bar. "Llomerynn whiskey? Did you drink that entire bottle?"

The pirate squinted at the vision before her. "Hawke? Isshat you?" she slurred. "How come there'sh three of you? I think I've had thish dream before..." She muttered, her foggy memory firing. It was one of her favorites.

"Come on, I think you've had enough for tonight," soothed Hawke. "Look, the bottle's empty."

The corsair peered at the bottle blearily, before sighing gloomily. "It'sh fine. I wash done with it anyway." She stood unsteadily, wobbling on her feet. The floorboards rose and fell like the sea, and it took her a moment to find her footing. "When did the Hanged Man get sho wavy?" she asked, suspicious.

The Champion pulled one of the Rivaini's arms about her shoulders and started walking the rogue toward her room. "Are you alright, Isabela? You're more drunk tonight than I've seen you in a while." The lanky woman's back felt warm and strong against the pirate's skin.

"Mmm fiiine... I would rather have sheksh tonight anyway," the drunken rogue declared. Her breath was thick with the smell of alcohol. "We're shtill alive... enjoy life while we can," she added, hiccuping.

The pirate pushed the thoughts of fear and horror back once more, as she tried to focus on the sensations of warmth and the thoughts of the night's pleasures. She refused to think about the bodies again. She refused to think about losing Hawke in such a way. Instead, the inebriated buccaneer seized an opportunity and began nuzzling the Champion's neck as the two made their way through the patrons toward Isabela's room in the rear of the establishment.

"Isabela, come on. Let's just go to your room, and-" began the Champion.

The pirate reached with her right arm, looped about the Fereldan's shoulders, and began massaging the Champion's right breast. She started off with gentle strokes, but began pressing her nails into the soft flesh. Her victim gave a little squeak of surprise, and the dusky Rivaini woman took it as further encouragement. The rogue caressed her lover's thigh with her left hand in an upward motion, before raking her nails down. She scratched hard enough to cause marks in the skin of the flustered Fereldan.

Isabela grinned as she felt Hawke increase her pace towards her room. The distracted noble half-heartedly tried to bat away the captain's wandering hands, soundly slapping them once or twice . As they neared the door, Isabela slipped away from the Fereldan and onto her feet, silently cursing the world for swaying unsteadily beneath her heels. The lanky noble felt the weight lift from her shoulders and straightened. She looked over her shoulder for a moment, confused, before she felt a slap on her ass. She squeaked in surprise and spun, only for the lusty rogue to pounce on her, both women stumbling backward into Isabela's room.

The Champion staggered backward, bumping into a small bookshelf filled with dog-eared tomes and publications. The top of the shelf dug painfully into her back as she felt the dusky corsair's strong hands grasp her collar and tear her tunic open, exposing her creamy skin to the cool air. She lurched to her feet, but the canny duelist simply threw her weight to the side, sending both of them onto the floor in a heap.

"_Need_ you," growled the pirate, as she climbed on top and straddled the dazed Fereldan. The swarthy woman ground her hips against her pinned paramour as she leaned down to nip and bite almost painfully at the Champion's exposed flesh. "Need to _feel_ it," she snarled, squeezing her lover's breasts hard enough to leave red finger marks.

The rushing sound in her ears drowned out the other sounds in the room. The buccaneer vaguely felt _something_ touching her arms and shoulders, but the sensations were faint - detached, as if she was experiencing things secondhand. She pondered it for a moment, and the roiling dark feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had spent all night combating began to spread through her chest and lungs again.

"Want you," the pirate urged, leaning down and desperately kissing her lover. She needed to make the feeling go away, needed to run, needed to replace it with something, _anything_ else. She tried to concentrate on the trembling woman beneath her, to feel the soft and smooth skin against her lips, but it wasn't enough. Isabela needed _more_.

She heard a yelp of pain. It sounded as if it had come from far away, and she paused. Sensations came slowly to her, as if trying to penetrate the fog in her head. She licked her lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. She pulled back, confused. She willed herself to look down, and her own sharp intake of breath caused the world to spin even faster in her periphery.

Hawke lay beneath her, breathing heavily and staring at her with her soulful blue eyes full of confusion and tinged with hurt. Her pink lips and pale skin were marred by a brilliant streak of bright red blood, welling up and flowing slightly down her rounded chin. The sight of the blood pierced through the haze in her mind, flooding her with sensation and throwing the rest of the world into sharp relief. Every detail leaped out at her, from the way the lamp light reflected off of the liquid to the deep shade of red set on the pale background. Her heart skipped a beat and began to pound, and the full weight of the emotions she had been trying to drink away, every last bit of the uneasiness and fear, came flooding back through the walls she had been trying to erect around them with alcohol all night.

Her eyes darted from the deep crimson of the blood to the only other source of color in her vision. Hawke's deep sapphire irises were overflowing with emotion - fear, concern, and love. Isabela felt lost in the blue gaze, her cheeks suddenly flushing in shame.

"I... I didn't-" began the captain, fumbling for the words that would not come. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to find the right thing to say. The faces of the dead women appeared unbidden, still contorted in pain and death, superimposed on her lover's face. The image of the Champion's face emerged from the swirling shadows, and she could see every perfect detail. Her cracked, dry lips, her cold, clammy skin, and the haunted, lifeless look in her unblinking eyes. The drunken rogue raised her hands to her eyes, in a futile attempt to stop the rush of emotions assaulting her from all sides.

Warm arms encircled her, drawing her close and holding her in safety and comfort. She held herself stiff for a brief moment, before giving in and melting into the arms of her lover, and clutching her with renewed ferocity. The heat and comfort radiating Hawke's body warred against her fears in the recesses of her mind, and for a brief moment Isabela thought that it wouldn't be enough, that she'd lose her fragile grip on her composure. She closed her eyes, and clung to the woman in her arms for dear life, gritting her teeth and finally letting go of her own meager defenses. The fear flooded in, threatening to envelop her, before crashing and shattering against the feelings she refused to release. The anxiety melted away, leaving her trembling with a sense of warmth and serenity at her core.

Hawke whispered soothing words to the still-trembling woman as she held her tightly. "It's going to be alright," she whispered over and over, stroking the rogue's hair and rubbing her back in small circles.

The words echoed in Isabela's head as she finally drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When morning came, the Champion cracked an eye open and winced. She was lying on the floor of Isabela's room in the Hanged Man, and a bit of light from the sun had come in through a window and caught on the glass bottle on the pirate's bookshelf. The glare from the shiny bottle was angled just right to shine brightly in Hawke's left eye, and she raised one hand to shield her face from the relentless sun. It was hardly the first time she had awoken in an uncomfortable position, and definitely not the first morning she had spent on the floor of Isabela's room. The Rivaini's bed was little more than simple linen sheets thrown over canvas sacks of loosely packed straw. It was comfortable enough when they used it, though she could deal without the occasional stalk jabbing her in the back when she lay down. The overall comfort level was likely the reason they spent more of their evenings at her estate. She shifted, and the weight pressing down on her shifted with her. She glanced down.

Isabela was still asleep, her head resting on the noblewoman's breast. The slumbering pirate sensed the change in motion; she smacked her lips and rubbed her cheek against the smooth skin, and Hawke felt a brief twinge of discomfort as the side of the pirate's golden earring poked her in a particularly sensitive spot. The Champion traced her index finger along the dusky captain's smooth cheek and jawline, briefly brushing the lip stud, and finally touching the buccaneer's full lips with her fingertip.

The sleeping rogue stirred, licking her lips and raising a hand to rub at her face. She lay her head back down on her breast pillow and looked up at Hawke. A moment later she lazily smiled at her lover, her half-lidded gaze full of comfort and warmth.

"Is... is it morning already?" Isabela mumbled, yawning.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Hawke, stroking the pirate's hair.

The Rivaini rubbed her cheek against her pillow again, before continuing. "Did we... last night?" she asked, unsure.

"I don't think so, despite the state of undress," replied the Champion.

"Then why do I feel so refreshed?" wondered Isabela. Her eyes flew open as the memories returned in a flood of recognition. She bit her lower lip silently, tensing her muscles for a moment. She heard a sound in her ear; the steady, soothing rhythm of the Fereldan's heartbeat calmed her and the tension drained from her as quickly as it had come. She murmured, "Hawke, I... thank you. For last night."

"Next time we do this, I want a real bed. The floorboards are fine for our usual exertions, but I think I'll be walking funny today. And, sadly, not for the usual reasons," replied Hawke in her usual, jovial voice. She stroked the pirate's hair with her right hand, eliciting a pleased sigh from her passenger, before her stomach loudly growled in protest. "You might still be sleepy, but your pillow needs breakfast," mused the Champion.

"Five more minutes?" asked the rogue.

Hawke's stomach gurgled in response, louder this time.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to have some pancakes as well," sighed the pirate, rising from the floor. She raised her arms over her head and stretched out, bending backward and thrusting her chest out.

Hawke sat up and watched, transfixed at the sight for a moment. Her mouth went dry.

"Like what you see?" smirked the dusky sea captain, extending her hand toward the seated woman.

"I look forward to inspecting it more closely later," nodded the Champion, clasping the corsair's hand firmly in hers and standing. "Do you suppose Corff has any bacon this morning?"

"If we're quick about it. Come on, Hawke. I'm positively famished, and you're going to need your strength for what I have planned for you after breakfast."

* * *

"So I'll see you tonight then?" asked Hawke as she pulled on her boot.

"Don't go all clingy on me, Hawke," smirked the pirate from the bed. She noticed the Champion stiffen before rising from her bedside, and the corsair smirked to herself. She sat up and swatted the Fereldan on the backside.

The Fereldan gave a little jump before spinning to look at her lover.

Isabela reached out and took Hawke's hand in hers. "Make sure Bodahn sets a place for me at the table," she laughed, gently squeezing the noble's fingers.

"Aye aye, Captain," said Hawke, casually throwing Isabela's tunic at the nude rogue who deftly snatched it out of the air her other hand. "And what shall you be doing today?"

"I'm stopping by my ship for a bit. Varric asked for my help with some of his manuscripts. Factual accuracy, you understand. I also think I might visit that hat shop in Lowtown," replied Isabela. "Perhaps shopping for other sundries as well," she added.

"Well, be good. I've got a mountain of invitations to answer. Will you be coming with me on any of them?" sighed the noblewoman.

"Choose the two with the best food," nodded the dusky Rivaini, releasing the Champion's hand.

"Yes, dear," laughed Hawke as she turned to leave.

"And Hawke..." added the pirate, trailing off.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. I mean it."

Hawke gave her a gentle kiss before leaving.

When she was sure Hawke had gone, Isabela dressed quickly and pulled back her blankets. She raised the golden medallion she had lifted from Hawke's clothing and examined it closely. The work was finely crafted, it was no ordinary ornament. Someone had to know something.

"And I'm going to find out who," she muttered to herself, grasping the amulet tightly in her gloved hand. She finished fastening her boots to her legs and slid her blades into the sheaths on her back, before walking out her door.

* * *

The interior of the Blooming Rose looked the same during the day as it did after sundown. Most of the windows were covered in thick velvet curtains, or had tapestries depicting erotic acts with mythical creatures hung over them to keep the daylight out. A group of elven musicians ensured that soft music was always playing, and dozens of candles and lamps provided a warm, ethereal glow to the establishment. Isabela smiled as she entered, noting the friendly chatting sounds coming from the brothel bar.

Madam Lusine looked a bit tired from a distance. She was sipping a cup of something from the bar, but brightened and put on her smile when the pirate approached. "Captain Isabela, welcome back to the Blooming Rose. Didn't bring the Champion this time?" she greeted.

"She had more pressing matters," shrugged the Rivaini. "I'm here for myself today."

"Whoever you wish, Captain. Jillian still hasn't returned, I'm afraid. Perhaps you would like Vergil the Dragon Layer? Or could I interest you in Cleft-Tongue Nina?" Lusine asked, glancing in her logbook.

"Tempting as those two sound, I think I would like Lianne again. She did such a good job last time, I would like a second helping," grinned the corsair.

"An excellent choice, Captain. Head along to the rabbit room, and she'll be with you shortly," smiled the Madam.

"One last thing... I would appreciate your discretion on this matter from the Champion," added Isabela as she turned.

"Of course, Captain. Consider it done," replied Lusine, inclining her head.

* * *

The rabbit room had always been Isabela's least favorite room at the brothel. The room was large, but there were sharp edges and corners from shelves and item racks everywhere, and the bed was covered in a blanket lined with rabbit fur. The paintings on the wall were all themed after hunting. Naked forest nymphs with bows and arrows chased game, virile looking huntsmen grappled with the nymphs, and bearded, deer-legged fauns ravished noblewomen in bowers of trees and heather. Isabela pulled the covers back and flung them to one side of the bed, taking care not to touch any of the stains or matted fur on the lining.

"Ugh, I wish they'd wash this thing more often," she grimaced.

The moments ticked by as the bored rogue played with the things in the room. She began by jumping on the bed. The soft feathers provided an ample springboard, and she laughed to herself as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. It did eventually grow tiresome, as her feet eventually carved a small crater in the center of the bed. She blushed for a moment, embarrassed, before pulling the covers back over the indentation, and turning her pursuits elsewhere.

"I'm sure they'll just write it off as sex gone wild," she reassured herself.

Noting the desk with parchment and ink, she quickly sat down and began scribbling. She drew a smiling Hawke first, and then a pair of glorious breasts. She laughed and continued by drawing a small chest full of glimmering coin. The chest was soon surrounded by a crude sketch of herself carrying the chest in a running motion and laughing joyfully, followed by an angry Aveline, yelling and chasing while spewing fire from her mouth and smoke from her nostrils. She had just begun adding a handlebar mustache to the angry redhead when she heard Lianne clear her throat from the doorway to the room.

"I'm sorry it took so long, my last client was... insistent," the courtesan offered as she entered the room.

"Oh? Someone greatly enjoying the championing of your cause?" smirked the pirate.

"If you can call it that. Refused to leave until I paddled his bottom over a table," she shrugged. "I see you're here without your fur-smoking tuna taster. Shall I show you what tricks I've learned in the meantime?"

"Perhaps later," smiled the sea captain. "First, I want you to tell me everything you know about this," she continued, tossing the gold medallion to Lianne.

The dark-haired prostitute caught the heavy amulet in both hands, and her eyes widened in recognition. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked, inspecting the fine craftsmanship. She turned over the necklace to read the inscription on the back.

"That depends on what you think it is. It's real gold and real gemstones. Someone paid a fortune to have this made, and I want to know who that someone is," replied the pirate, steepling her fingers.

"This was Jillian's. One of her clients gave it to her as a present. I remember her showing this thing around to the others like it was pulled straight from Andraste's dimpled treasure box. She was so proud of it, she'd never take it off..." Lianne trailed off, raising an eyebrow. "What happened to her?"

"She's dead. We found this on her body," Isabela sighed. "You'd best be careful. It's no coincidence she was targeted."

"I thought as much. Stupid rump wrangler should have known better, but the man-mattress was always too good, too popular, too special to listen to the rest of us," spat Lianne grimly. "Splitting your buns in Darktown is asking for trouble. Whoever did it must be sporting a golden truncheon to get Jillian to swallow swords down there. I've done some nasty things for coin, but even I wouldn't go down in Darktown."

"Do you know who gave it to her?" asked the captain.

"Between Jillian's regulars, it has to be du Gaudet. It can't be Comptesse La Croix, she's behind on her payments and hasn't been to the Rose for weeks. Madam Lusine told us to refuse her salt and pepper snapping satchel if she came in looking for us," muttered Lianne, thinking to herself. "That leaves Compte Mont-Renaud, and he's rich, but his family's fortune loses in both length and girth to Lord du Gaudet's."

"Hawke mentioned du Gaudet before. How wealthy is he?" Isabela asked, curious.

"The man has more coin than Itchy Iona has crabs. His family owns a literal gold mine near the Nevarran border. You think your little clam-slamming Champion has coin? Her purse is miniscule compared to the size of the du Gaudet family jewels," said Lianne.

"Something like this wouldn't be much for a man of his stature, hmm?" asked the pirate, retrieving the medallion from the courtesan.

"Likely not. From what I hear, his stature is short, shriveled, and slightly to the left," smirked the foul-mouthed sex worker. "But he's rich, and nobody dares say anything. To his face, anyway. Possessive, that one. I heard he used to play rough with some of his favorites. A real beaver beater, that one."

"I'll keep it in mind," nodded the sea captain.

A silent moment passed. The courtesan glanced at the crude sketches on the sheaf of paper and smirked. The expression on Lianne's face grew sly, as she changed the subject. "So... is it true what they say about the Champion? You must have stories to share," asked the prostitute, leaning in and grinning.

"Oh, I do indeed. Let me tell you about this special Feastday gift I bought for her! You see, I had to have a special lightning rune crafted..." Isabela began, a brilliant smile on her face.

* * *

"Ah, you've returned!" The jovial dwarven majordomo bowed with a flourish as Hawke finally walked in through the foyer. "Welcome home, messere. A letter came for you; I've left it on your desk. Captain Isabela also came looking for you. Lovely woman, she is. Reminds me of me cousin, Lanie. She was a noble hunter, you know," he greeted.

"Thank you, Bodahn," replied Hawke graciously.

"Also, Captain Isabela is waiting for you in the great room. At least, I think she is. Will she be joining us for supper tonight? We'll be having some fresh sea bass I purchased today," inquired Bodahn.

"Set an extra place for her. You know how much she likes sea bass," said the Champion, smiling.

"Messere, I wouldn't presume to impose. You've been very kind to my boy and I, and I don't want you thinking I'm speaking out of place about your guests, but... er..." began the dwarf, hesitantly.

"Is this about Isabela, Bodahn?" asked Hawke, arching an eyebrow and smirking. "Please, feel free to speak your mind. She has that effect on people sometimes."

"The good captain has er... proclivities, messere. She likes to _carve_ things. Shapes, specifically," Bodahn replied, looking uncomfortable.

"Ah... I'll see if I can get her to stop. Or at least do so in a less public place," nodded the Champion.

"Very good, serah. Thank you again," nodded the steward, visibly relieved.

The fire was crackling merrily as Hawke padded into the great room. The dusky rogue was leaning on the bannister to the stairs, with a wicked smirk on her face and a blade in her right hand. She carved away on the handrail, lost in her artistry. Hawke loudly cleared her throat as she walked over to the writing desk.

"What sort of atrocities are you inflicting on my poor bannister now, you saucy wench?" asked the noblewoman, a crooked grin on her face and hands on hips.

"I'm simply adding the proper details to your likeness," laughed the pirate, without looking up from her work.

"How would anyone know that's supposed to be me? You only carve your artwork from the neck down," sighed the Fereldan, shaking her head.

"Well, we'll know, and the rest will guess. I think the Captain Cold Cooter suspects," grinned the corsair, adding a few more details.

Hawke idly picked up the envelope on her desk and glanced down at the seal of a charging ram set into the wax. Wondering which noble family had a charging ram on their coat of arms, she broke the seal with her thumb and opened the letter.

"Dear Champion," it read. "Certain matters have come to my attention that require your counsel. They concern the recent tragedy in Darktown. The Guard Captain suggested that I reach out to you. These are sensitive matters that concern the killings greatly. The lives of many depend on your secrecy. Come tonight to the Viscount's Way at midnight, and come alone. Tell no one." It was signed Lord Donovan du Gaudet. She glanced from the parchment to the pirate, carving away at her handrail.

She turned the envelope over in her hand, examining it for any other clues.

"What're you reading?" asked the pirate suddenly from her perch on the stairs.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just another request for the Champion, you know how it is," Hawke replied, refolding the letter. "Did your day go well?"

"It was educational," nodded the buccaneer. "I bought a new chest for the captain's cabin aboard my ship. One with enough room for someone who changes clothes as often as you do," she smiled.

"We'll have to look for some booty to fill it with," nodded Hawke. "Now, if you're quite finished defacing my handrail, I believe I smell the sea bass."

"You always knew I had a taste for fresh fish, Hawke," smirked the pirate, taking the Fereldan's arm in hers and pulling her toward the dining room.

* * *

Isabela woke as she detected the movement in the bed. Hawke had seemed distracted during their usual bedroom enjoyments, which only confirmed her suspicions that something had been bothering her normally-enthusiastic lover.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt her favorite pillow move, attempting to extricate itself from her arms and legs. She loosened her grip and felt Hawke wiggle a bit, edging towards the side of the bed. The Champion moved an inch at a time until she finally got free of the dusky hands that had been wrapped around her moments before, breathing a small sigh of relief that the pirate had not visibly stirred. The noblewoman attempted to pull her leg from the coverlet and shifted her weight awkwardly.

The pirate winced when she felt the weight in the bed shift as Hawke fell onto the rug, pulling the blankets with her. She heard the woman quietly mumble curses and swallowed her chuckle as the cool air caressed her freshly bared breasts.

Hawke quickly rose from her position on the floor, and peered carefully at her apparently-sleeping lover. The swarthy rogue gave a small, sleepy-sounding moan and rolled over in the bed, turning her naked back to the silent observer. The relieved noblewoman gave the pirate a light kiss on the cheek and pulled the covers over her softly breathing form, before dressing quickly and carefully and leaving the room.

As soon as she was sure Hawke had left the room, Isabela immediately tossed aside the blankets and pulled on the special outfit she had set aside for such an occasion as fast as she could. Eschewing her usual white tunic, instead she donned a black linen bodysuit. She tied her hair back with her headscarf and buckled her sheathed blades onto her back.

"She's got a long way to go before she'll be able to sneak away from me," Isabela muttered to herself as she finished strapping her boots on. The pirate paused for a moment and sighed. "And I've got a long way to go before I leave well enough alone," she added before quickly moving out the door.

The Amell estate seemed eerily empty in the flickering candlelight. The shadows of the furniture danced along the high ceiling, adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the manor. However, Isabela's practiced eyes were immediately drawn to the movement by the foyer. The Champion of Kirkwall tiptoed to the door and carefully slipped out. The pirate silently padded down the stairs and silently opened "her" window. She vaulted over the window sill to the outside, landing on the balls of her feet. Closing the window behind her, she silently crept to follow the noblewoman through the darkened streets.

The sea captain stayed at a good distance, keeping to the shadows and staying out of sight. Hawke moved with a brisk pace through the narrow alleyways and passages, looking back and forth for movement in the empty streets. The crescent moon cast unsettling shadows from overhead; the cheerful orange light cast by burning braziers fixed at each manor home provided a sharp contrast to the silvery glow of the moon. The Champion solemnly made her way up the great steps leading to the Viscount's Way, and paused.

A hooded figure stood in the center of the Viscount's Way. It was a man, powerfully built and sporting a thin, straight sword at his hip. He bowed to the approaching Champion, and pulled his hood back to reveal his curly black hair and well-trimmed beard.

Isabela flitted to the nearest column, taking care to keep out of sight. She watched carefully as the Fereldan woman spoke.

"Alright, I'm here. I suppose you didn't call me here for tea and discussing Lady Janice's latest hairdo, did you?" Hawke asked, hands on her hips.

"Always so flippant, Champion. I do admire that about you. The ability to throw caution to the wind for the sake of a joke," the man said, his voice thick with amusement. He stepped closer to her, circling her slowly as if examining a newly-purchased horse. "And so beautiful... the paintings and song really do not do you justice," he continued.

She looked at him sharply. "The killings, Ser. You asked me here because you had information on the killings," she said, the irritation evident in her body language.

"And so focused. I can see why you were able to earn the respect of the Arishok," he cooed, placing a large hand on her shoulder. The Champion shrugged it off quickly, the unease evident on her face. He chuckled and the sinister sounds echoing through the broad corridor. "You needn't act so coy, Champion. I've had my eye on you for a long time, ever since you saved the worthless nobility of Kirkwall from that horned monster. You're a fine prize. My greatest prize."

Isabela couldn't quite see Hawke's expression from her vantage point, but the Fereldan's stiffened shoulders and folded arms told her that those icy blue eyes were narrowed and disapproving.

"This isn't a date, and I've already got someone I care for. If you're through wasting my time-" Hawke began, before the Orlesian man raised his hand and barked a laugh.

"I did not lie. I called you here because I know all about the killings. You see, _I_ had them all killed. I needed to show you how serious I am," he said, as if talking about buying a bag of turnips.

"You _what_?" demanded the Champion, reaching for a weapon. Isabela tensed, one blade halfway out of its sheath already. If this man had planned on ambushing Hawke by herself this night, he'd be disabused of that notion before he could blink.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Champion," he replied smoothly, raising a finger.

"Or what, you'll have a large number of mercenaries leap out of the shadows and kill me?" growled the angry noblewoman. "I've killed more mercenaries than the Orlesian army."

"Aye, that you have. I'm well acquainted with your list of exploits, my dear. Your rise to power, your indomitable spirit, and your uncanny knack for survival. That's what I find so attractive about you. I _know_ that any mercenaries I hire would simply fall before you like what before a scythe," he said, holding up his hands.

"Then why are we doing this song and dance? Give yourself up, we'll go see the guard captain, and I can be back home and getting some much-deserved rest before anyone else knows I'm gone," nodded Hawke amenably.

The hidden rogue strained to hear the villain's response.

"I said that you were my prize, and that it was a matter of life and death, and I meant every word," replied du Gaudet. "You see... there are more canisters of that abominable Qunari poison gas hidden throughout Kirkwall. Four more, as a matter of fact," he continued.

He raised his heavy golden medallion, sparkling even in the moonlight. He pointed at it. "Four gems, four canisters. Each placed in a location for maximum exposure to the common, ordinary folk you seem to love so much," he said, the smugness rolling off of his tongue.

Hawke lashed out with one hand, trying to snatch the amulet from him. A flash of light enveloped her, and she screamed as jagged lightning arced from the amulet through her body. She fell to the hard stone in a heap, and struggled to rise again.

"I am not an imbecile, Champion. This is no ordinary control device. It is bound to me, as surely as your strength and skill is bound to you. I can activate the canisters whenever I wish," he murmured.

Hawke's hand went for her weapon as quickly as Isabela pulled her dagger back to throw at the man's neck.

"Ah, before you think of simply stabbing me and relieving me of my life before I can activate the canisters," he interrupted quickly, holding up a finger, "the amulet is not merely a mechanism to control the canisters, it draws the power from my very life force."

"Blood magic," spat the Champion, rising to her feet.

"That's right, princess. If I breathe my last, they all go," he said with a smile, tucking his amulet back into the front of his doublet. He buffed his fingernails against his chest and looked at them.

"You're mad," growled Hawke.

"Oh, on the contrary. I'm actually quite pleased with this turn of events. I've done what no demon, monster, mage, or mercenary could do. I've bested the Champion of Kirkwall," he laughed.

"What do you _want_?" snarled the Champion.

"You, Champion. I want you, by my side. You'll be my perfect consort, body and soul. You'll be mine, and all those innocent people will be yours," he said, the sinister glee dripping from every word. "I know it can be a lot to take in. I'll even give you some time to get acquainted with the idea and make your arrangements with that filthy lowborn guttertrash you call a lover."

Hawke stiffened, and refused to look at him. Isabela's chest tightened, and she fought back and she fought back the urge to stab the man in the gut and enjoy his last gurgling breaths.

As he brushed by the stricken Champion, he added in passing, "Come to my autumn ball as my date, four days hence with your answer. Dress appropriately, and tell no one of our arrangement... You know what will happen if you do."

The last they saw of him that night was his back as he descended the steps, whistling a merry tune to himself.

_To be continued..._

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Happy Holidays! I wanted to get this done before my trip to Asia, and I hope everyone enjoys it. I'm not dead! This story began as a high concept piece, and grew a bit naturally from that. You'll have to be content with waiting to see what happens next. I know that I was a bit harsh with Anders in this one, and I know he has a lot of fans. You'll have to wait and see what happens in the next one, I promise it will be addressed._

_The title refers to lionfish - an extremely delicious, but fatally poisonous fish. It may be eaten, but only when prepared just right._

_Shout outs to my prereading crew, for their always-useful tips and suggestions._

_Lots of love to grapey, who helped shape the concept for the story._

_Finally, the Isabela of Snacking fame has begun her own blog. It's mostly an ask blog, where internet denizens may ask her anything they wish and she will answer. You may find it at .com. Should you be curious as to what she thinks of things, feel free to ask a question! You may find her response amusing._

_Cheers!_


	2. Chapter 2

Eating Lionfish, part 2

by Hoorayforicecream

"Everything has gone according to plan," laughed the manly baritone voice. The speaker sat in a plush velvet chair, swirling a fine wine in his jeweled goblet before taking a sip. He lazily leaned back, a wide smile reflecting the orange firelight on his shiny, even teeth. "She is mine now, and needs only accept it."

"Are you quite certain of this, du Gaudet?" asked a deep, rasping voice. The hooded figure stood, his back to the fireplace. The shadows covered his face, obscuring all but his thin, bony silhouette. "She has proven herself extraordinarily... resourceful in the past."

Du Gaudet continued to grin as he raised his glass to his companion. "Aye, she has. It's what makes her such a prize. Making her mine will be the crown jewel in my collection of prizes," he laughed.

"And her companions?" asked the shadowed figure, raising one hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

"Without her, they are nothing. She is the force that binds them. Once you break the dragon's back, the claws, the teeth, and the fire are no longer a danger."

"Then all that remains is tightening the leash. Do not forget the terms of our arrangement, du Gaudet," rasped the hooded figure. "You may do with her as you please until then, but once she perishes, she belongs to me."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have my enjoyment from her. You'd be surprised what you can live through," smirked du Gaudet, as he raised his goblet again.

* * *

Hawke looked over the parchment in her hand a second time, to make sure she had read it right. Her emotions swirled inside her, the icy chill running up her spine fought with the rage bubbling up from the bottom of her belly, but she forced herself to be calm.

_To my dearest Champion,_

_I believe I may have come across as overly confrontational at our last meeting. For a partnership as ours, I believe it is important to understand each other's position. I am not an unyielding stone, I do give as well as take. And so, in a show of good faith, I would like to cordially invite you to my Chateau. It is only a day's journey from the City of Chains, and I would like you to familiarize yourself with your future home._

_I understand that you may be somewhat skeptical about the genuineness of my offer, and so I am fully prepared to offer you some fair recompense for accepting my generous offer. Do you remember the jeweled amulet I showed you so recently? I would happily offer you one of the gemstones from it, and all associated benefits in exchange for your presence. I am hosting a grand gala event in two weeks time. Your presence at my manor is required until then. If you don't accept, then I will use the gemstone you have refused for its original intention._

_Best regards,_

_Jean-Claude du Gaudet, Lord of the Brooksmere Valley, Bann of Wildervale, Seneschal of the Viridian Mountain._

She shuddered. The thought of living so closely to du Gaudet made her skin crawl. A sudden, dull pain flared in her jaw as she realized she had been grinding her teeth. She took a deep breath.

The snarl on her face must have been showing. Bodahn, her dwarven majordomo, cringed in the corner and trying very hard not to look conspicuous as he watched her reactions carefully. She clenched her fist, crumpling the letter into a ball, before addressing her valet.

"A messenger brought this?"

"Yes, messere. Not even an hour ago, just dropped it off and went on his way."

Hawke let out her breath slowly, sighing and relaxing her fingers. She looked at Bodahn, resignation obvious on her face, and nodded to him.

"I'll be going out for a few days. An urgent matter requires my attention," she said.

The dwarf looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her mood.

"Messere? Shall I send for your companions to accompany you? The lady Aveline, or perhaps Captain Isabela?"

"No, Bodahn. I'll be going alone this time," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Right, then. I'll just keep the manor for you the way you like it. We'll await your return, messere."

Hawke nodded, and went to gather her things.

* * *

Isabela scowled into the bottom of her cup. Unlike her usual reason for scowling, the cup was not empty. She had a dilemma, and her usual solutions were inapplicable. She took a sip of the bitter liquid and rolled it around on her tongue.

Hawke needed help.

She took another mouthful from her cup, gargling with it a bit before swallowing. The normally-pleasant burn as it traveled down her throat felt irritating, rather than reassuring. She turned the situation over and over again in her head. There had to be a solution to it.

Hawke needed _her_ help.

She finished the last of the whiskey from her cup, feeling it travel down her gullet and through her chest, burning all the way. Corff looked at her and raised an eyebrow, but she waved him off.

"Not today, my friend."

She stood and stretched, feeling her warmed blood flow through her arms and legs while ignoring the appreciative glances thrown her way by the other tavern patrons.

It had become common knowledge that the pirate had taken up with the Champion, but there was also a prevailing rumor that a third party could get invited to their bed should the lucky hopeful obtain blessings from both women. None of the attempts to woo both had yet been successful, but that had not dissuaded a myriad of optimists from endeavoring to try.

A pretty young woman gathered her courage and took a breath, trying to calm her nerves. Becoming the Champion's lover would mean prosperity for her family, and she had heard rumors that the sea captain would take practically anything to her bed. The youthful blonde put on her most winsome smile and approached the dusky corsair.

Isabela heard the movement behind her and turned to face her.

The girl froze as she saw the ice in the pirate's stare. Her blood turned to sludge in her veins as her smile vanished from her face. She involuntarily stepped back, a wave of fear washing over her as she took in the baleful look in the captain's eyes.

A murmur rippled through the patrons, as the buccaneer sniffed and turned toward the back of the establishment. The snubbed young woman sank into the nearest chair and hastily raised the nearest tankard in her trembling hands in a desperate attempt to purge the sight from her memory.

"Captain Isabela!" called out a male voice.

Her glorious boots stopped, as she focused golden eyes on the caller. A harried-looking dwarf in a fine velvet waistcoat stood near the entrance, breathing heavily. He looked like he had been running.

"Bodahn, Hawke isn't here," she replied, waving him away.

"I know, messere. I came looking for you," panted the dwarf. He doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Messere Hawke just left the manor, said something about leaving for a few days and being back later," he added. He didn't see much, but he heard the staccato sound of rapid footsteps approaching. He looked up to see the pirate looming over him with a frown on her face and a look in her eye that brooked no nonsense. He swallowed as she grasped him by the collar and hauled his face up toward hers.

"Tell me _everything_," she demanded.

* * *

"We're here, Champion," called the driver as he halted the horses. He stepped down from his perch above the carriage and opened the door with a deep bow.

Hawke stepped out of the coach and shielded her eyes from the setting sun as she surveyed her new surroundings. Chateau du Gaudet was a massive undertaking of craftsmanship. The walls were made of smooth, smoky marble that stretched three floors up. Dark ceramic shingles decorated the roof around several chimneys that were gently smoking in the late afternoon air. The cavernous mansion would have looked much more foreboding, had there not been a steady stream of servants entering and leaving the chateau's side entrance, each carrying boxes and materials from the small fleet of wagons laden with sundries. The Champion strolled down the stone walkway from the gate to the massive wooden double doors to the manor. Two liveried servants in green and gold bowed before her, pulling the doors open and allowing her to enter. A plain-looking man with chestnut hair that was streaked with grey stood to meet her.

The thin, lanky man looked her over with shrewd brown eyes as he placed his hands on his belt. He was easily a head taller than everyone else. He wore a plain white linen tunic above brown leather pants that highlighted his bony features, and long boots that looked like they had traveled far and wide. Hawke's eyes lingered on his heavily callused hands, and the battered-looking sword at his hip. He nodded to her.

"Well, if it ain't the Champion of Kirkwall. His lordship will be pleased to see you're here," he drawled. "Please come this way."

The entryway was enormous. Great stone pillars rose from the marble tiled floors to the vaulted ceilings. Suits of armor polished to a mirror sheen dotted the walls, as the occasional servant scurried by, intent on some pressing task. They would each bow as the Fereldan passed, before resuming their duties.

"And who might you be?" asked Hawke, as she walked with him.

"You can call me Nolan. Everybody does. Ah help out around the estate, odd jobs mostly. Bit of this and that. His lordship says Ah'm a real handy man," he said. "He's been looking forward to your visit quite a lot, so forgive him if he's a bit over-excited."

"I don't recognize your accent."

"It's just a little of this, a little of that. Ah reckon I've been just about all over Thedas doin' odd jobs fer folks," he said.

"What kind of odd jobs?"

"Whatever needs doin'. I fix problems, is all."

The lanky man fell silent as they approached the great hall. The barrel-chested lord of the manor stood with his back to them, directing servants. A pretty young maid of about fifteen in green and gold livery brought a platter with several goblets and a decanter of wine. He idly took one and she filled it for him. He sipped it, before pointing and telling a workman where to place the decorations.

"Your lordship, the Champion of Kirkwall's here to see you," announced Nolan, inclining his head toward the nobleman.

Lord du Gaudet turned and broke into a wide smile.

"Champion, so lovely to see you. I have been awaiting this day. Please, please, make yourself at home," he said, gesturing to the manor.

"Your request said it was urgent that I come," Hawke said a bit stiffly. "You offered a bargain, and I am here to collect."

"Of course, of course. Anything at my disposal is yours. You must be tired from your journey. Please, enjoy some refreshments while I show you the preparations for the gala in a week's time."

The young maid carrying the wine stared at the Champion with wide eyes. Spots of color bloomed on her cheeks.

Lord du Gaudet looked at her with annoyance. The smile vanished from his face, as he snapped his fingers in front of the mesmerized serving girl's face.

"Do not embarrass me like this, servant," he growled at her, his face nearly contorted with rage.

She stumbled toward Hawke, startled, and lost her grip on the platter. The crystal decanter and goblets fell to the tiled floor, shattering and splashing the red liquid contents across the smooth tile. The wine splashed a bit onto Hawke's right foot before she could step back.

"You worthless ingrate!" shouted the livid nobleman. "The Champion's visit is supposed to be _perfect_! You miserable failure!"

"It's alright, Ser du Gaudet," soothed Hawke. "It's not her fault, and it's really not cause for alarm."

Another servant appeared and whispered something in Nolan's ear. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Your lordship, somethin's come up on the grounds. Ah'll be takin' my leave if you don't mind. If you like, Ah can take Nicola here for discipline while Ah'm tendin' to that business," the tall man suggested.

"It's really alright, no harm done," assured Hawke.

The nobleman nodded to the tall man, and his smile returned.

"Don't trouble yourself with that, my dear. The servants just need a firm hand, is all," he said, clapping his hands loudly. Another serving maid scurried off to retrieve more refreshments.

"Come," he continued. "Allow me to show you the preparations."

* * *

Hawke moved to follow him, but glanced behind her at the dejected form of the serving girl following the lanky man from the room. The feeling of unease in her chest began to grow.

Isabela looked down at her traveling companion and groaned. The chestnut mare briefly flicked one eye back at her as it trotted briskly down the dusty road.

"Don't look at me like that," she grumbled as she tried to find a more comfortable sitting position. She gripped the animal awkwardly with her legs, while one hand tightly gripped the saddle horn, and the other held onto the reins.

"Bloody horses... if I wanted a big, sweaty creature between my legs, I'd have gotten Hawke. At least then the ride would be a lot more fun."

The horse ignored her words as it crested the next hill. The pirate shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun, as she spotted the small dust cloud in the distance of a horse-drawn carriage pulling through the gate surrounding a large manor house . She snapped the reins, directing the mare to a nearby tree and dismounted.

"Be good while I'm gone. I think I'll walk the rest of the way to loosen up," she muttered to the horse as she loosely tied the leather straps to a low-hanging branch. She stretched for a moment, limbering up her muscles, before gingerly rubbing her thighs and rear again.

"Bloody horses..." she cursed as she walked toward the manor.

The pirate approached cautiously, spending time to observe the patterns of the servants entering and exiting the rectory from her vantage point in the trees. There were a few guards, but they didn't look particularly well trained. With a little encouragement, they might be persuaded to look the other way.

She observed a few more moments before she made her move. She slipped from the trees and followed a maid of about her height and build to one of the wagons, and quietly overpowered her by clapping one hand over the surprised woman's mouth, while twisting the maid's arm painfully at the wrist.

"I'm sorry, my lovely, but I really must get inside. If you don't wish to be hurt, you'll cease your struggles and be silent. Screaming will be much worse for you than it will for me," she whispered gently to her victim. The poor maid looked at her with frightened eyes, but didn't make a sound as Isabela lowered her hand.

"Are... are you going to kill me?" whispered the terrified maid.

"No, my dear. I'm not going to kill you," sighed Isabela. "I need to borrow your uniform for a bit. My friend is a prisoner in the chateau, and I need a way to get her out."

"Ah wouldn't be doin' that if ah were you," a masculine voice warned.

The pirate froze, her hand already extended toward the serving girl's bonnet. She turned to see a tall, thin man in workman's leathers. He stood in a relaxed stance, scratching at his chin while observing with a slightly curious expression on his face. He had a curved blade at his belt. The handle and crossguard looked old and battered, but the canny buccaneer could recognize a silverite blade when she saw it.

"And here I thought the dancing wasn't until later," remarked the pirate, unslinging her blades from her back.

"Don't say ah didn't warn you," the man said with a shrug. He unbuckled the strap holding his blade in its sheath, laying one callused palm on the sword handle. He glanced at the trembling maid to reassure her. The momentary distraction spurred the corsair into action.

Isabela wasted no time propelling herself toward the lanky man. She covered the short distance between them in the blink of an eye, and lunged blade-first at him.

The serving girl gasped as the sound of metal on metal rang in her ears.

The pirate's blade had been blocked by the lanky man's weapon. She spared it a quick glance, and grimaced. Her opponent wielded a long notched sword-breaker. Like a single-edged sword, the reverse side had wicked-looking grooves with little metal teeth carved into it to catch enemy weapons. Only a bit of lateral force would be enough to wrench her dagger from her hands if those teeth caught.

The tall man gave an almost-imperceptible shrug as he whipped his wrist to one side and tore her dagger out of her grip. It clattered to the dusty ground with a small bump.

"Ah don't really want to kill you. Why don't you just give up?" he suggested reasonably as he moved to block the path to the fallen weapon.

Isabela leaped back and quickly transferred her remaining blade to her primary hand. She adjusted her stance a bit, rebalancing herself for the missing weight of her second weapon.

"It's only just begun to get interesting," she said with a smile. She dashed in again, this time going low with her remaining dagger.

The tall man moved to parry the blow like he had done the first, but his eyes widened in surprise. Rather than catching her weapon in the teeth again, she had turned her weapon sideways and caught the flat of her blade against it. He looked back at her just in time to see the smug grin on her face as the corsair hurled a needle-sharp spike at his chest with her off-hand.

He threw himself to one side to avoid the projectile. Unable to fully dodge, he spun and took it in his free arm. It took only a moment to reestablish his guard, but a moment was all Isabela needed to launch past him and grab her fallen dagger.

She locked eyes with him as she rose, both weapons extended.

"Looks like you're a bit tougher than the usual sorts ah need to deal with," he said affably before grabbing the spike and pulling it out of his arm. "Reckon ah oughta get serious then."

The pirate rushed at him again, threatening with both weapons, but this time he was ready. He stepped forward to meet her, parrying her first attack with the swordbreaker, and blocking her second with a curve-bladed hand axe he had drawn from a belt loop. Isabela held her charge a moment longer, challenging him to continue pressing against her.

He did not back down, though he narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.

She grinned, stepped back, and let go, using the momentum to spin her in a circle. She rotated with the movement and kicked him squarely in the ribs, before dancing back.

The tall man gave a grunt of pain, before standing again in a guard stance, both weapons at the ready.

She watched him carefully, wondering if he would say anything.

He didn't. Instead, he rushed toward her almost as quickly as she had gone after him.

She deflected the lanky man's hand axe on her right, then caught his swordbreaker on her pauldron as it came down, hoping that the red iron wouldn't break. She tried to slide in closer to bring her blades to bear, but a white-hot flash of pain stopped her forward momentum as the man raked his axe across her left arm.

He continued his relentless assault as blow after blow was parried or deflected. Isabela had only been struck once, but she was losing ground as their clashing weapons rang in the afternoon sun. He finally swung one mightly attack and drove her back several steps, forcing her to dance away out of range.

"You'd best be gettin' along. The guards will likely be here soon," the man said, nonchalant. "Ah could tussle with you a bit longer if you like, but the longer you wait, the harder it'll be for you."

The corsair quickly glanced over the man's shoulder and realized that the maid had run off. Worse yet, she could hear the telltale sound of marching boots in the distance. She glanced down momentarily at her fingers. They were already beginning to feel numb, the effect from gripping her blades harder to keep them from being yanked out of her hands by the swordbreaker, and from absorbing the force of his blows a moment before.

"This isn't over," she said, carefully backing away toward the tree line.

"Ah didn't think it would be," he replied, shrugging. He began whistling a merry tune as he sheathed his weapons and turned toward the manor, knowing full well she had already disappeared.

* * *

The Champion awoke to the sound of thunder. She pushed back the comforter and stretched, rubbing her left shoulder. She reflexively reached to her left, but where her hand expected to find a warm, still-sleeping woman, she found only silken sheets. She sighed as she turned to look out the window. The leafy trees obscured her view, and the darkened sky caused the room to look every bit as dreary as she felt. The steady rain made the room feel cold, despite the presence of the glowing coals in the bed warmer.

Hawke brought one hand up to her throat, feeling her new golden choker. A single emerald was set in the center, and she felt the tingle of magical power as her finger traced the hard, square gemstone set in the golden necklace. The lord of the manor had been true to his word. She had watched him pluck the jewel from his own amulet, and place it in the choker she now wore. As long as she had it, he would be unable to use it to kill. He had three others set in that amulet, keyed in on blood magic and ready to release their deadly payload in the city.

The Champion sighed. She shook her head, willing herself to remain positive. She'd think of something. She had to.

The oaken door creaked as it opened, followed by soft, tentative steps against the stone floor and rug. Hawke glanced over her shoulder at the entrant, smiling when she realized who it was. It was the same wide-eyed serving maid who she had met the day before in the grand ballroom. She waved the maiden in and rose from the bed to greet her.

The young woman carried a silver tray laden with a matching porcelain teapot, teacup, a small jar, and a lidded bowl. She glanced from Hawke's icy blue eyes to the tray, and nervously kept her eyes down. Her brown hair was done up in a bun on the back of her head, and her hands trembled a bit as she set the tray down on a small table. The maid bowed to the Champion before turning to leave.

"Wait a moment," called Hawke, reaching out to the nervous young woman.

The girl halted at the door, trembling slightly.

"You're... Nicola, right? The girl from yesterday?"

The maid nodded nervously, taking care not to make eye contact. Instead, she continued to look down at her shoes.

The Champion approached the uniformed girl, padding across the rug silently.

"Can you answer a few questions for me about this place? I've only just arrived."

The maid looked at Hawke's face in fear before dropping her gaze again. She seemed terrified.

The lanky Fereldan woman reached to touch the girl on her shoulder in a reassuring manner, but the young woman pulled back.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Nicola. I'm not going to eat you," promised the Champion. "We've only just met."

The girl's trembles slowed a bit as she raised her head to look at Hawke. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, but still exhibited a healthy amount of fear. She flinched a bit when Hawke touched her shoulder, but the hand was warm and inviting. The maid nodded, then relaxed a bit.

"Perhaps some tea, then? I'll tell you about me, and you can tell me about you," said Hawke.

Nicola's eyes looked down. She sighed sadly.

"Not a fan of tea, hm? Let's see what else we have here," said Hawke briskly, pulling back the lid of the bowl. She smiled when she saw a large dollop fresh yogurt, mixed with a variety of ripe and colorful berries before her.

The young woman's stomach gurgled at the sight. She blushed, looking embarrassed.

"I see this seems to be a bit more attractive than the tea. Would you like to share it with me?"

The maid looked at her questioningly.

"You... can't speak, can you?" asked the Champion.

The maid shook her head, sadly.

Hawke patted her gently on the shoulder. "Thankfully, you needn't speak to eat. I'll have a bit of that tea, and you can try this out and let me know if it is tasty," she said with a smile.

The Champion sat in silence for a moment, sipping the hot tea and watching the girl hurriedly enjoying the breakfast.

"Would you like to hear about why I am here?" Hawke asked.

Nicola paused, her spoonful of blackberry and yogurt halfway to her mouth. She looked unsure of herself, as if unable to decide between hearing a story, or finishing the breakfast.

"You can keep eating while I tell you," Hawke said with a smile.

The maid nodded vigorously and ate a little slower, watching Hawke with deep brown eyes as the Champion began recounting the tale of the events leading her to du Gaudet's mansion.

* * *

"You've gotta be shittin' me, Rivaini!" Varric exclaimed, as he slammed his tankard down on the table. The contents of his mug splashed out, leaving small flecks of foam on the aged oak. The dwarf slumped in his high-backed chair, exhaling loudly. "I've heard some pretty tall tales in my time, and even told a few myself, but this?"

"It's true," replied the pirate simply.

"Let me get this straight. That smug son of a bitch nobleman is the one behind the disappearances of the ladies of the Blooming Rose," began the dwarf.

"Yes," nodded Isabela.

"The same son of a bitch has somehow gotten possession of three more canisters of that Qunari poison that killed a lot of innocent people," continued Varric, drumming his fingers on the table.

"He's using some sort of blood magic to activate the poison gas!" added Merrill helpfully.

"He's holding the city hostage to force Hawke to do whatever he wants," sighed Aveline, crossing her arms and scowling.

"And even if we could talk to her, which we can't, if we tell Hawke or act on what we know and that villain finds out, hundreds of innocent people will die," sighed Sebastian.

"Shit," Varric cursed in summation. "That son of a nughumper has really got us by the short and curlies."

"Forcing Hawke to act the slave," growled Fenris, clenching one fist. "We cannot let this stand."

"You've got a plan, don't you Isabela? You must have a plan," piped Merrill.

"I do," nodded the corsair, standing up.

"Now just wait a moment," interjected Aveline. "Why would we follow orders from the washed-up whore? Some of us have actual leadership experience that _doesn't_ involve taking our clothes off."

"Right, we should follow things by the law and the rulebook like Madame Muscles wishes," mocked Isabela. "What messere Man-Chin doesn't realize is that the bastard will be watching for that. He's been a member of the Viscount's court for _years_ now. Do you honestly think he hasn't paid attention to how the guards and the law in Kirkwall work?"

"Be that as it may, I've got plenty of experience bringing criminals to justice. My guardsmen and I-," began the armored woman.

"If you lead the charge, he'll see _and hear_ it coming from a mile away. Mobilizing the guard is the _last_ thing Hawke needs. I've seen his keep. If you bring your guardsmen into this, all that will happen will be a protracted siege, culminating in him detonating the poison and a lot of dead Marchers. We need someone who can do things unexpected and with subtlety," interrupted Isabela. She casually tossed a small leather bag at Aveline.

The redhead snatched the bag out of the air and her face darkened as she realized it was her own coin purse.

"Stealing from me while I'm distracted doesn't prove anything!"

"Varric is just as sneaky and underhanded as Isabela. Why not listen to him?" offered Anders.

"Oh no, Blondie. I'm not cut out for leadership. I write the stories, I don't star in them. I deferred to Bartrand when we entered the Deep Roads, and I defer to Hawke when we're out on our grand adventures. I'm the type who spots talent, not the one who gives orders," said Varric, raising both hands. His grin grew sly."That said, Rivaini _has_ had a lot of men under her. Clothed, even. While at sea. We could at least _listen_ to what she has to say."

"She does know Hawke a lot better than the rest of us," mused Sebastian.

"More often, too," murmured Isabela to herself. She cleared her throat, before continuing. "Regardless of your feelings toward me, think about Hawke. Think about what sort of position she's in. She's got such a soft heart that it would kill her to know that even more innocent people died because of her."

Aveline's glare softened, and she took her seat again. Anders looked like he wanted to say something for a moment, but sighed and nodded his head. He then motioned for the pirate to continue.

"I know how to think like a rogue. This blighter has been one step ahead of Hawke the entire way, and playing catch up won't work. What we need to do is to get ahead of him," she said.

"How are we to do that?" asked Merrill, chewing her lower lip.

"Kitten, what was the first lesson I taught you about cheating at cards?" asked the corsair.

"That she's terrible at it?" muttered Fenris.

"Misdirection," recounted the blood mage. "You need to distract them so they don't see you cheating."

"Very good, Kitten. I've worked out a plan, and I'll need all of you to do it," Isabela nodded, glancing at each person at the table.

The other members of the group exchanged glances, finally looking at Aveline and Anders.

"I hope Hawke's planning skills are as contagious as those diseases of yours," muttered Anders.

"I still don't like it. We can't just leave Hawke's life and the lives of hundreds to some half-cocked _scheme_," grunted the ginger warrior. She glared at Isabela.

The pirate met her gaze, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Aveline blinked first, surprised. There was no joke, no merriment in Isabela's amber eyes like there usually was. There wasn't even any of the sea captain's usual bravado or swagger. All the peace officer saw in the corsair's eyes was grim determination with a hard edge the Fereldan woman rarely saw from the pirate. Aveline sighed, louder this time.

"Let's hear it, whore. What would you have us do?" asked the armored amazon.

"I'm glad you asked," said the pirate with a wicked-looking smirk, as she began unrolling a map.

* * *

The Champion woke with a yawn. She rubbed her eyes gently as she rose from the bed, looking at the smiling maid at her door.

"Good morning, Nicola. Are you doing well today?" asked the Fereldan.

The maid nodded vigorously before placing the covered silver tray on a small table. She quickly pulled the covers back, and laid out a deep blue velvet gown onto the bed.

Hawke glanced at the dress, and sighed. The serving girl touched her arm, a questioning look on her face. The Champion shook her head and stepped behind the Orlesian dressing screen to change her clothes. It had been only two days since she had arrived, and she had waited nervously for something, anything to happen.

Each day, the lord of the manor would spend the morning overseeing issues from his vassals, and directing the preparations for the ball. She would be required to join him for lunch, where he treated her with civility, but always with an undertone of possessiveness. The afternoons were spent walking the grounds, where he would show her the various parts of the land he owned, and the evenings were spent similarly, idly conversing about Kirkwall politics or economics. Hawke had adamantly refused to divulge any information about her friends. Whenever du Gaudet was rebuffed, he simply laughed. He wouldn't press the matter, and just changed the subject of the conversation each time to something else.

Instead, the Champion mentally gathered as much information as she could from the walks on the grounds. She memorized the patterns of the guards, noting when they changed shifts and all of their specific posts, and paid attention to the way the guards and servants interacted. The guards were mercenaries, she discovered, who thought themselves better than the men and women who performed the day-to-day duties of maintaining the manor. Of particular interest was the cavernous hallway that the servants clearly avoided. The guards patrolled it, but the attendants always gave it a wide berth. Hawke wondered what was in that mysterious corridor.

Hawke had enjoyed the mornings most. Nicola had been as helpful as she could. The young maid had provided her with maps of the grounds, and answered her questions to the best of her ability, but was unable to provide any insight into the enigmatic east wing. Nicola loved hearing the Champion's stories. From the events leading to her to the mansion to her desperate flight from Lothering, the serving girl had listened with rapt attention.

"I wonder what's for breakfast today?" asked Hawke as she sat at the small table.

Nicola pulled the silver platter cover back, revealing three sunny-side-up eggs, fried potatoes, and a generous helping of bacon. She smiled and began pouring orange juice from a crystal decanter into a pair of goblets.

"It smells lovely," said Hawke. "What story shall I tell you today? The time I went into the Deep Roads? The time I was hunted by a Nevarran dragon hunter? Or the time that a simple treasure hunt led to me almost being buried underground?"

Nicola shook her head at each of the suggested tales while chewing a mouthful of bacon. The maid brought both hands to the sides of her head, making fake horn shapes with her fingers, then made chopping motions with her hands.

"Oh, so you want to hear how I became Champion. The tale of the Qunari attack. Is that it?"

The maid nodded.

"Well, it all began when I met a gorgeous pirate captain from Rivain... or so she said. She had skin the color of bronze and lips like the smoothest chocolate, but the thing I remember most about her were those stunning amber eyes. They were full of fun, confidence, and more than a little mischief," Hawke began, leaning back in her chair. She smiled as she continued.

"She offered me her services in exchange for my help... she was looking for an ancient relic somewhere in the city, and she needed someone to watch her back. In return, she'd lend her blades to my cause, whatever that might be. Little did I know that what had started with a simple business arrangement would become something... different."

The girl's eyes widened in recognition. She raised one hand and looked as if she were about to say something, when a knock came from the door.

The heavy oaken door swung inward, and Nolan entered the room. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and scratched at his neck nervously.

"Beggin' your pardon, your ladyship, but his lordship requires your presence," he announced.

The Champion took a moment to glance at Nicola, then back at Nolan.

"Ah believe he meant immediately, your ladyship," he clarified, holding the door open.

"I'll be right back, Nicola," the Fereldan said with a smile, plucking one of the bacon strips from the tray and popping it into her mouth.

She walked silently behind the gangly man through the hallway, past the suits of armor and oil paintings decorating the walls.

"What's all this about?" she asked.

"Ain't my place to say, your ladyship. Ah just know he's with one of his liege men and requires your presence," replied Nolan.

They passed through the great hall, and toward a carpeted room just adjacent to the ballroom where a small group of finely-dressed men and women stood. The mood was somber, and Hawke could practically taste the fear in the air. The gathered nobles exchanged nervous glances, some quietly whispering amongst themselves as they recognized her.

"Come on, your ladyship. He's expecting us."

She followed him into the office, where an old man in a garish orange doublet and a bald head was bowing and apologizing to Lord du Gaudet.

The room itself looked imposing. The walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of leather-bound books and tomes, and the largest bear skin rug Hawke had ever seen covered the floor. A pair of preserved dire wolves stood in silent vigil on each side of the tall fireplace that held a crackling fire. The heads of several dangerous animals were mounted above the hearth - a dragon and a wyvern bared fangs in a permanent, silent snarl. Mounted on the walls were several vicious-looking exotic weapons each with its own set of nasty barbs and hooks.

"... There's nothing I can do, milord! My family needs those prize steers to bring them to market! If I give them to you, we won't have enough coin to buy grain for the winter, or pay our ranch hands! Please milord, I'd be happy to provide you with plenty of other prime animals for your banquet. Just don't take the prize steers!" beseeched the balding man. He bowed and scraped before du Gaudet, clearly hoping for clemency.

The lord of the manor sat behind a large wooden desk that had been carved to look as if crying slaves were holding it up. His only acknowledgement of the Champion's entrance was a single cocked eyebrow. He listened intently to the supplicant. When the petitioner finally finished and looked to him for a response, he steepled his fingers and looked directly at the old man.

"Ser Adel, do you remember the oaths you swore to me when I inherited my title?"

"Y... yes, milord. I swore to serve you and your family loyally, and you swore to protect and to rule us fairly," Adel answered.

"Good. When your lands were assaulted by bandits last spring, who was it who summoned armed guards to drive them away?"

"Y.. you did, milord."

"Excellent. And have you been ruled fairly? Have I asked for more of you, in taxes or tribute, than I have of any of my other vassals?"

"N-no, milord. You have not."

"And Ser Adel... did you not say, months ago, that you would provide your finest livestock for our little celebration?"

"But Lord du Gaudet, the growing season has been terrible this year! We'll have no food for this winter!"

"Ser Adel, I would like you to meet someone," announced the nobleman, gesturing toward Hawke. "I'm sure you recognize her."

The old man turned toward Hawke, and the color drained from his face.

"Th-the Champion of Kirkwall?!" he stammered. "I... I..."

"As I said, the Champion is my honored guest. I'm sure you would never wish to _disappoint_ someone with such an esteemed reputation," du Gaudet mused aloud.

"N-no, milord," replied Adel, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"So you will honor our agreement, will you not?"

"Y-yes, milord. I'm sorry, milord," said the elderly man.

"Good. If we do not honor our agreements, we're little more than animals."

The dejected man slunk out of the room silently, while the lord turned to face the Champion. He broke into a large grin.

"Good morning, Champion. I'm glad you could join me," he said.

"Just... what was all that?" asked Hawke warily.

"Simply insuring that my liegemen fulfill their sworn duties, of course."

"And my involvement?" continued the Champion.

"It's quite simple, really. You are likely the most dangerous and fearsome slayer of man and beast alive. You are here at my pleasure, and it is useful to me that they know how far my reach extends."

"You can't seriously believe that I would just agree to become your enforcer. I'd never do that!" Hawke retorted, furrowing her brow.

"Wouldn't you, my Champion? How many innocent lives would it take to convince you otherwise? A dozen? A hundred? All I am asking for is for these men and women to honor agreements and oaths already made, nothing more. If their oaths of fealty to me will not straighten their spines, the threat of force may be necessary."

The lord of the manor stood, and Hawke's gaze was drawn sharply to the burnished amulet around his neck. The remaining three gemstones sparkled in the firelight. As he looked at her with grim determination, all traces of smile had vanished from his face.

"Make no mistake, Champion. Regardless of whether it is the carrot or the stick that I employ, those who are beholden to me _will_ know their place. It is at _my_ pleasure that they serve, and it would do well for them to remember that," he said. His expression changed, and the smile returned as quickly as it had departed. "Now, shall we take our meal outside today? I wish to show you the lake on the grounds."

* * *

"We've managed to find one of the canisters," Anders announced. "You were right about its location; Aveline and I found it in the rafters at the Chantry. That's the good news."

"Well, that's wonderful!" chirped Merrill.

The pirate captain narrowed her eyes.

"This seems a little too easy," she said, furrowing her brow. "What's the bad news?"

Anders glanced at Aveline before replying. "We can't move it and we can't disarm it. If we do, we'll trigger the poison early."

Isabela pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "That's more like it. If it was too easy, he'd never have been this confident about blackmailing Hawke. Varric, tell us about the anti-tampering device. I take it that you weren't able to disarm it."

"I've gone over the thing with a fine-toothed comb, and believe you me, climbing to the top of a tall ladder, even one held steady by Aveline, is not an experience I'd care to repeat. That thing isn't mechanical. There's no hole, no panel, no port. No tripwire to cut, no counterweight to secure, and no spring to weigh down. The only thing in that thing looks like a series of grooves all leading to some sort of indentation... like something's meant to go there," grumbled Varric.

"It's blood magic, isn't it?" the pirate mused aloud.

"How did you know that?" asked Anders.

"A while ago, Hawke and I came across a similar trap in an ancient dungeon. There was some fighting, and she tried to kill me for a bit, but then she got better."

"She tried t' _kill_ you?" asked Sebastian.

"Oh, it seems to happen to all of my lovers eventually," replied the pirate, shrugging. "She _did_ get better, and, as you can see, I'm not dead. It all worked out in the end. The _point_ was that we found a device that sounds similar to this. It was an ancient trap that channeled blood and lyrium through these grooves in the walls, and brought them to some sort of focusing gemstone."

"And what did you do to this thing?" asked Aveline.

"I smashed it," said the corsair with a smirk.

"Of course you did," sighed the guardswoman.

"The important thing is that it's blood magic. We can all thank Andraste's soiled white granny panties that we've got our very own blood mage who can tell us about it," replied the pirate, leaning back in her chair.

"It certainly _sounds_ like blood magic. The grooves are there for the blood to flow to the channeling stone. That's what's missing, you know. The channeling stone is what you'd place into the indentation that Varric mentioned. All of the lyrium and blood would flow into it, but that would all be raw energy." Merrill chewed her lip in thought before continuing. "You'd need a lot of energy, in order to make sure that it would be controlled from such a large distance, but it would require precision. Like when Aveline pokes something with her sword instead of punching it. It's the same amount of strength, but all of that energy is focused into the tip of the blade instead of spread out through her knuckles."

"I do not _poke_!"

"That must be what the channeling stone is for. Focus all the energy from the blood, make it do what they needed. But you'd need something special, something that could contain all of that energy," mused Anders, stroking his chin as he thought aloud. "It would need to be small enough to conceal. But for something to be that small and yet able to channel that much power..."

"It would have to be an item from a creature. Something with great vitality, crystallized down to the purest form," Merrill added, sounding excited. "A great creature, with great strength... probably a mighty hunter, in order to add even more energy into it."

One mage looked at the other as recognition dawned on both of their faces simultaneously.

"A wyvern's bezoar!" they both exclaimed together.

"For those of us who don't speak mage, what on earth is a wyvern's bezoar?" asked Varric, scratching his temple.

"It's like... a bit of something that gets caught in a creature's digestive system, or gullet. Usually they're digested or passed, but, very rarely, they stay inside the creature for years, soaking up and absorbing bits and pieces of the creature and everything around it," answered Anders.

"The result is found when the creature's life ends. It ends up being a hard, rock-like thing, but it isn't just a rock. It's got so much life energy that's been put into it over the years that if you channel magical energy into it at all... lyrium, blood, mana, anything, it lights up like a thousand candles. Bezoars of all types have been used in many legendary incantations in the past, but something like this must require something with a tremendous amount of life energy," added Merrill.

"Then that's it," declared Fenris. "We just need to find one of the bloody things."

"How d'you suppose we find one?" asked Sebastian. "Do we just pack up and find a wyvern to kill?"

"It isn't that easy," cautioned Anders. "Not every wyvern has a bezoar. They're incredibly rare. I can't even begin to imagine where we might find one."

"We're also pressed for time," said Aveline. "Remember, every moment we chase this thing is a moment Hawke remains in du Gaudet's clutches."

"It sure seems to be a real conundrum," sighed Varric. "This is usually to be the part where Hawke comes up with some crazy scheme that's just crazy enough to work."

The room was deathly quiet for a moment.

"I've got a plan," declared the pirate, breaking the silence.

"I'm ready to listen to just about anything at this point," groaned Aveline. "Even if the plan is just 'not enough whiskey.'"

"I'll take care of the wyvern's bezoar. In the meantime, the rest of you keep searching for the other canisters. It won't help when I bring the thing and we still have the threat hanging over our heads like storm clouds on the horizon," the corsair declared.

"How will you find it?" asked Merrill.

"Come now, Kitten. Finding rare artifacts and making off with them is what I do best," replied the sea captain with a wink.

* * *

The woman leaned back in her plush chair and sipped the wine in her jeweled goblet. The moonlight filtered gently into the room through the drawn curtains. A cozy fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she flipped the next page in a heavy, leather-bound tome. She could hear scuffling sounds through the large, oaken door but paid them no heed. Muffled shouts and screams occasionally interrupted the steady hissing and popping of the fire.

She sighed as she swirled the contents of her goblet before taking another sip. The liquor was sweet, but pleasantly burned as it went down her throat. She smiled a bit as the she continued to read the book, paying little attention to the noises coming from beyond the door. She didn't even look up when the door itself shook, as if something (or someone) heavy had been slammed into it. The heavy wooden door creaked as it opened inward. A man in armor fell backwards through the entrance onto the rug, groaning and clutching his privates.

The woman sighed, and placed a pink, silk ribbon in the book to mark her place, and carefully closed it. She looked up as the invader entered the room, stepping over the fallen man as if he were nothing.

The dark-skinned invader stood in the entryway, fists planted on her hips. Her white tunic was generously spattered with crimson blood, though none of it was apparently hers. She grinned.

"Can't you just make an appointment like the normal people who come to visit me?" asked the woman in the chair, setting her book on a carved wooden table.

"The last time we spoke wasn't exactly under the friendliest terms," replied the captain. "How was I to know you wouldn't just run away like the last time?"

"I'll be honest," said the sitting woman. "The thought had crossed my mind. Did you leave any of my men alive?"

"Most of them, I think. You don't employ a particularly brave bunch," said the pirate with a shrug.

"Now that the pleasantries are taken care of, perhaps you could tell me just why you're here," asked the woman.

"The answer is simple, Athenril. I'm looking for something, and _you_ are going to help me find it."

_Author's Note: I truly apologize for how long it's been. I've been grappling with the details of this story (which originally all stemmed from a single mental image that I __**still**__ haven't written yet) for a long, long time. I hope that some of you are all still interested in what happens next. A tremendous thanks to the inestimable suziegon, a loyal reader who PMed me and actually reminded me that there are some of you faithful readers out there who still very much would like to know what happens next. You can thank her for this story actually making it into the wild. I hope I have not disappointed too much._

_Believe it or not, the story is still continuing. I've got about 9,000 more words written or so, and (yes, I know) the story is still not quite finished. It's coming together, I just need to get the details of each scene straight. I've got... maybe three scenes left to write, I think, and the final chapter can go to the pre-readers, whom I love dearly and thank profusely._

_If you are still looking for Isabela-related tales and adventures, I heartily suggest visiting her tumblr at isabelaexplainsitall dot tumblr dot com. If you have any comments, suggestions, or story ideas you'd like to see, please send them to hoorayforicecream at yahoo dot com._

_Hope you enjoy the tale. Cheers._


	3. Chapter 3

Eating Lionfish, part 3

by Hoorayforicecream

Athenril walked calmly past the hulking guards and into the dockside warehouse. It was an old building that looked like it had seen better days. Although it hadn't been touched during the Qunari attack, the structure had fallen into some disrepair. The scent of mold and mildew added a distinct aroma to the stale air. However, there were other things to interest her besides foul smells and abandoned cargo.

The building housed a large, iron cage, inside which two women were doing their best to kill each other. The two warriors each had their faces hidden behind elaborate ceramic masks, but wore torn rags that barely covered their breasts and private parts. Their oiled bodies glistened in the firelight of the warehouse. They circled each other, the blonde threatening with a two-handed sword, while the lanky brunette wielded two wicked-looking spiked metal gauntlets. Both women bled from small cuts, but they were alert and focused as they looked for openings in their opponent's defenses.

A large crowd of men and women surrounded the cage, cheering and clamoring at the top of their lungs. Barkers ran from group to group, taking wagers and shouting odds. Slender elven serving women dressed similarly to the cage fighters carried assorted food and drink on trays to the clamoring patrons. A number of courtesans, dressed like the combatants, hung on the arms of the wealthier-looking patrons.

Athenril pushed her way through the chattering groups toward a carpeted area. Two heavily armored dwarven guards with crossbows in hand and polearms on their backs stood guard beside a small velvet rope that blocked off the staircase to the second level. She nodded, and the guards exchanged a look from behind their helmet visors. The warrior on the left pulled the rope back, and waved her past.

She ascended the steps to the second level. The area had been cleared and cleaned; several lounge chairs and plush sofas had been brought up to the crude balcony illuminated by fire runes. The balcony allowed for a better view of the gladiators below. A handful of oaken tables and chairs had been set up by the railing for the benefit of those who wished to sit while watching the fights. Several armed men and women sat around a large table, casually observing the fights and chatting over jeweled wine goblets. One of the men waved at her, and she moved to join them.

"Well, well, well... I didn't think I'd see you here tonight, Athenril," greeted a thin-faced man with a scraggly beard. His sunken, pock-marked cheeks made him look ill, but his frame had a wiry strength to it that matched the ruthlessness in his eyes. He stroked his chin with one hand while fondling the bare breast of a plump brunette sitting on his lap with his other.

"You're looking flush, Vincente. Is your girl going to last longer than the first round this week?" asked Athenril with a grin.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," he replied. "Rafaela will be the last one standing tonight."

"Nay, the victor shall be my wench," thundered the hulking, bearded man in furs to Vincente's left. He tilted back his tankard and drank noisily from its contents. "I have trained my woman personally. None of your harlots will be a match for Tasha!"

"I beg to differ, Mathias," said an aged elf woman who sipped from her jeweled crystal goblet. Her graying hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and each of her fingers sported a different-colored jeweled ring. She wore a colorful silk coat with ruffles at her neck and sleeves, but her movements were unmistakably those of a seasoned veteran of combat. The two men at the table regarded her warily. "My Gretchen shall be tonight's victor," she said airily.

"It's nice you are all so confident," observed Athenril as she tossed a heavy sack into the pile of coin in the center of the massive table. It landed with an audible clink. She grinned wickedly. "You're wrong, though. My girl tonight is going to win it all for me."

A bloodcurdling scream burst from the arena and the crowd erupted in cheers. Athenril and her tablemates glanced down. The blonde was lying on her side, moaning and trying to staunch the blood flowing freely from several puncture wounds in her side with her hands. The blow had been a powerful one, leaving shredded skin in its wake. The brunette stood triumphant, roaring to the crowd and lifting both of her bloody fists over her head. Rivulets of her opponent's blood dribbled down the blades and forearms, leaving bright crimson streaks in their wake.

A pair of tanned elven women quickly entered the cage bearing healing poultices and a stretcher. They swiftly applied the herbal concoctions to the fallen combatant and hefted her onto the stretcher. The fallen gladiator groaned as the herbs took effect, but the elves ignored her complaints as they carried her away.

The aged elf woman grimaced, her thin lips drawn into a line.

"It seems Gretchen wasn't worth the coin you spent on her, my lovely Adriana," said Vincente with a sly grin. "Rafaela's fists are hungry tonight. I look forward to seeing them them fed."

"Your whore is savage indeed," replied Mathias. "But she too shall fall to Tasha."

"Who is your entrant tonight, Athenril?" asked Adriana. "Your record so far isn't very good."

"Oh, I've got a good one this time, Lady Adriana. She calls herself the Black Pearl, and she's certainly got some moves," answered the younger elf.

"Where is this Black Pearl of yours? She faces Tasha next," growled Mathias.

"Oh, she'll be there. Care to make a side wager? I'll put up another hundred crowns that my girl defeats Tasha," offered Athenril, grinning.

The bearded Mathias looked as if he had chewed on a lemon. Adriana raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"I'll cover all three of you if you wish to wager. That is... if you aren't afraid," said Athenril.

"Aye, wench. I'll see your coin. Tasha will crush your pearl beneath her heel," growled Mathias, slamming down a handful of small gold ingots.

"I've seen Tasha fight," agreed Vincente, throwing a jingling pouch onto the table next to the ingots. "I'm pretty sure I saw her chew through an iron bar once."

"You're entirely too clever for your own good, Athenril. I shall extend you the courtesy and save my coin for next time," replied Adriana, sipping her wine. The elder elf smirked.

The crowd below started to buzz fiercely again, as the next pair of combatants entered the cage. Athenril looked over at the gladiators entering the ring and nearly dropped the goblet she was lifting to her lips. Tasha was gigantic. She was easily seven feet tall of solid meat, her pale gray skin stretched taut over rippling muscles. Her mask looked like a demon's visage, all hair and fang and painted face. Her platinum blonde hair hung to her shoulders in coarse bunches, partially covering her face. From her vantage point, Athenril noticed the crown of Tasha's head... two stumps of bony material that looked broken.

"An oxman... no, an ox _woman_?!" exclaimed Athenril.

"Ah, that's right. It's the first time you've ever seen Tasha, isn't it?" laughed Vincente. "She's strong as a bronto and twice as ornery."

Mathias looked extraordinarily pleased with himself as Tasha roared at the crowd. The monstrous woman hefted a long-handled spiked club on her back. Heavy iron rivets lined the corners of the huge square-cut head of the war club. The weapon looked like it could break doors and crush armor as if it were parchment, and the warrior woman hefted the massive club like it was weightless.

Opposite the ogress of a woman, the Black Pearl entered the ring. As bronze as her opponent was pale, the Black Pearl didn't walk or stomp so much as saunter into the cage. Her large, heaving breasts were barely restrained by the rags wrapped about her body and the woman's oiled body glistened from head to toe in the firelight. Her rounded hips swayed as she strutted through the entryway. Her face was covered in a smiling harlequin mask highlighted by three peacock feathers from the top, and a black domino mask further obscured her face. Her bright amber eyes twinkled from behind the ornate ceramic mask, and she gave a mocking bow to her opponent, granting the crowd a view of her deep cleavage. The audience went wild with cheers.

"What's this? This is a bloody arena, not the Blooming Rose!" muttered Vincente, shoving the naked woman out of his lap as he rose. He leaned over the balcony, leering openly at the combatants. "She is quite charming, I'll give you that. It's a terrible shame that Tasha's going to pound her into jelly."

"I'm sure that I'll soothe my bruised ego with a bandage made of gold silk," Athenril said mockingly. She rubbed her thumb and fingers together.

The bell rang from the arena, and the battle was joined. The giant warrior lunged with surprising speed and swung her club back and forth in wide arc, advancing toward her foe like a battering ram.

The Black Pearl calmly took a step backward, just outside of the path of the club, and gave her shoulder-length hair a casual toss. The Tal-Vashoth continued to swing, trying to push her toward the edge of the cage. The bronze woman finally drew a pair of wicked-looking curved daggers from her thighs, and held them in a reverse grip, blades down. She took a wide, low stance and waited for the next swing.

It was not long in coming. Tasha swung hard, growling as she hoped to crush her enemy against the iron bars. The entire warehouse rang with the sound of iron on iron as the enormous war club smashed into the cage wall and dented the hard metal. The crowd gasped as they realized that the blow had not connected. The Black Pearl had ducked under the blow, holding herself close to the stained stone floor. As the enormous combatant readied her weapon for another swing, the Black Pearl launched herself toward the struggling ogress. The nimble fighter extended her blades and spun as she passed, drawing her daggers across the Tal-Vashoth's legs in a sweeping, circular cut. She slid to a stop, then snapped her daggers outward, flinging the blood from her blades to the stone floor before sheathing her weapons. She bowed deeply toward the crowd, who had fallen silent.

The enormous warrior shrieked as her legs buckled and she dropped to one knee. Bright red blood spurted from a deep cut in her right thigh. She tried to stand, but the leg gave out and she fell to the floor.

"Get up! Get up and kill that wench!" bellowed Mathias, his face turning purple in his fury.

The massive Tasha tried to rise again, bracing herself with her war club. She struggled to her feet, but she remained unsteady. Her injured leg was bleeding heavily, and her breath came in ragged gasps. She took one faltering step toward the Black Pearl, then another, leaving a trail of crimson in her wake.

The bronze-skinned woman stood her ground as her opponent slowly approached. The bemused expression in her eyes never faltered as the mammoth adversary tried to lift her massive weapon.

Tasha grunted as she lifted the heavy war club. Murder was in her glassy eyes, but her body began trembling as the handle fell from her nerveless fingers. She staggered forward and toppled to the cold stone floor.

The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.

"Preposterous... that little bitch of a fighter must have cheated!" sputtered Mathias. The large man gripped his goblet with white knuckles as he shook with rage.

"There, there, Mathias. I'm sure Tasha will survive. Perhaps next time you'll reconsider these ridiculous outfits and allow us to properly armor our combatants," offered Athenril with a sly smirk.

"Your Black Pearl is remarkable," said Vincente with a smirk. "I think I want her. A pity that Rafaela is to be her next opponent."

"Are you suggesting something?" asked Athenril, raising an eyebrow.

"Take all of the gold in the kitty and let me keep her. There's a few hundred sovereigns in there, far more than she's worth," Vincente offered magnanimously, while he leaned over the balcony and watched the dusky woman bask in the cheers of the crowd.

"And why would I want to do that? I can just let her gut Rafaela and keep both her and all of my winnings," reasoned the younger elf.

"That Rafaela is monstrous," Adriana announced with a scowl. "She must be part demon... or have a death wish. The bitch fights like a wild animal."

Mathias spat before he spoke. "Yon she-beast is strong, yes. I had thought my Tasha's strength to be sufficient, but perhaps I have erred in my judgement. Still, if your Black Pearl can defeat Tasha so easily, perhaps she may fare better than Gretchen did."

Athenril shrugged. "Don't underestimate my Black Pearl," she said simply.

Vincente laughed. "A good sport, then. Where _did_ you find this one? Your last girl could barely hold a sword."

The younger elf just placed her hands on her hips and smiled.

Vincente noted her silence and leaned over the balcony to watch as the fighters entered the cage again. "She's an Avvar, you know. Rafaela, I mean."

"An... Avvar?" asked Athenril, trying to remember what their people were known for. As she looked closer, realization dawned on her. She cursed softly to herself.

"That's right. She's a berserker."

Athenril could almost feel the palpable aura of smugness radiate from Vincente. She looked down from the railing to the arena.

The Black Pearl had already entered and was standing in an easy, relaxed stance. She turned toward the clamoring crowd and bowed again, the long feathers from her mask nearly brushing the stone floor. The audience burst into a frenzy of cheers and catcalls as her opponent entered the ring.

The brunette had pale skin, with her elbows and knees haphazardly wrapped in bloody bandages. She wore a mask shaped like a skull, her bright blue eyes peering out from behind the cold bone. Oily strands of her brown hair hung in tangled clumps. She raised her two gauntleted fists, tapping her knuckles together in preparation. She hunched over and tensed her shoulders and legs.

When the cage door closed, the bandaged woman let loose a guttural scream and launched herself at her opponent, leading with her right fist. The Black Pearl drew both of her daggers in one smooth motion, and held them in her reverse grip, blades down and facing out. She held her blade against her forearm as she blocked the punch. The sound of metal on metal rang in the cage as the pugilist's onslaught was halted.

If Rafaela was daunted, she did not show it. She immediately brought her left fist to bear, following her initial jab with a vicious hook. Her dusky opponent leaned back and brought her right hand upward, cutting a red gash into her arm, but she paid it no heed. She continued to viciously rain blow after blow on her target. Each blow was blocked, but the Pearl was being driven back from the force of each strike.

Rafaela saw her opportunity and brought down a vicious double-fisted overhead slam. The Black Pearl blocked the blow with crossed daggers, but dropped to one knee from the force of the strike. The she-beast shrieked and kicked upward with a bandaged knee, catching the Pearl in the chin and knocking her stumbling backward.

The Black Pearl shook her head to try to clear the spots of color blooming before her eyes. Her adversary charged again, the fresh blood from her forearms soaking into her bandages. It was like a blacksmith hammering molten metal. The steady ringing of metal on metal mixed with the roar of the crowd as neither gladiator would give. The bronze woman held on to her knives with a white knuckled grip, but her hands and arms were beginning to feel numb. The onslaught from her opponent did not end, even when she ducked under the extended fists and tripped her assailant, sending her sprawling to the floor. The swarthy woman spun toward her fallen foe and sank one blade deep into the thigh of the other.

The fallen woman's scream of pain became a shriek of anger as she twisted away from her enemy. The blade, still stuck in the berserker's flesh, was ripped out of the Black Pearl's hand and the Avvar warrior rolled to her feet. She stood and gingerly tested the leg, as if she was unsure why it wasn't functioning as well as it had been a moment ago, but she simply growled again and smashed her fists together in challenge.

The Black Pearl, down to a single weapon, held it in her right hand and steadied it with her left while assuming a defensive stance. She seemed a bit unsteady on her feet.

"This next attack will determine the battle," whispered Adriana. Mathias nodded at her grimly.

Athenril swallowed involuntarily. She glanced to her left, where Vincente stood with a large grin on his face.

"You should have taken my offer," he said.

"Five hundred sovereigns says my Pearl takes it," challenged Athenril.

"Done," scoffed her competitor.

The two women circled slowly, gauging each other for openings. The berserker twitched, and the Black Pearl made her move. The dusky woman hurled her dagger at her opponent's chest, and immediately launched herself after it. Rafaela brought up both iron gauntlets to protect her chest, deflecting the blade. A moment later, the Black Pearl barreled into her and knocked her onto her back.

The Pearl quickly scrambled for position, mounting her opponent's legs and raining blows on her body. The fallen Rafaela attempted to fight back, but she lacked the leverage for any power. Rafaela continued to try to rise, only to take strike after strike to her mask and jaw. Blow after blow came, until the Black Pearl finally grabbed her stunned opponent's face with both hands, tore the skull mask away, and slammed her own forehead into the berserker's nose. A crack the sound of thunder echoed throughout the arena as Rafaela fell back to the stone and went still.

The Black Pearl got to her feet unsteadily, and raised a weary hand in triumph.

The crowd exploded into cheers.

Athenril turned to look at her business associates. Adriana had a knowing smile on her face as she sipped her wine. Mathias stroked his chin, seemingly lost in thought. Vincente, however, had a sour expression on his face, as if he had just bitten into an unripe lemon.

The younger elf motioned and two burly guards came quickly, bearing a wooden lockbox. She nodded, and they began counting the coin on the table aloud in tandem as they put filled the box with the shining gold.

"T'would seem you made out like the bandit ye are, knife-ears," grumbled Mathias, looking woefully at the coin.

"I haven't collected it all yet, Mathias. Our esteemed comrade still owes me an additional five hundred sovereigns."

"I ah... I have a slight problem, Athenril," Vincente began nervously. "I don't have that much coin with me tonight."

Athenril didn't need to look to know that Mathias and Adriana had risen from their seats. She could hear the wooden chairs being pushed back and the careful steps toward her.

"You know that you have to cover your debts, especially here in the high roller's balcony," growled Mathias from behind the young elf.

"Reneging on a debt is unacceptable for a high roller, Vincente, and it is not without its consequences," added Adriana. Her tone brooked no argument, and her eyes were hard as steel.

"You do seem to have a problem, Vincente. How will you rectify this?" asked Athenril.

"Wait! Just wait a moment!" shouted the nervous-looking Vincente, as he raised both hands and took a step back. "I've got something... something valuable! It's worth more than what I owe, and I'll give it to you!"

"I'm listening," answered the elven smuggler.

"This, this little magic marvel," he offered, pulling a leather pouch from his belt. He reached into the small bag and drew forth what looked like a rock the size of Athenril's first thumb knuckle. It was polished to a sheen, and had tiny, barely-visible hairline cracks running all across its surface.

"A rock? What use is a rock?" asked Mathias, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's not just _any_ rock," Vincente answered quickly. He drew a small vial of luminescent blue fluid from another belt pouch.

Adriana took a quick breath and exclaimed, "Lyrium..."

Vincente nodded, and unstoppered the vial. He dabbed a single drop of the precious blue fluid onto the rock he held in his hand. The effect was immediate, the cracks that covered the surface of the rock burst forth in iridescent colors. The air felt electric, and Athenril could feel the hairs on her arms begin to stand on end as a result of the sudden feeling of raw energy radiating out from the stone like a wave.

"It's a wyvern's bezoar. I pinched it off of my employer, the fool never realized I had given him an ordinary rock. To the right people, this could be worth thousands," offered the oily man.

"That's very generous. You wouldn't be lying to me about any of this, would you?" asked Athenril.

"Of course not. How could a humble trader like myself fake something like that?" he replied, nervously wringing his hands. "You know a high roller is always good for his debts!"

The youthful smuggler snatched the stone and held it up to the light.

"Of course you are," she said. "A pleasure doing business with you."

* * *

The empty dockfront warehouse was quiet. The only sounds that filled the air were the sounds of dripping water, the small amount of foot traffic outside, and the periodic sound of the footsteps of the single person in the warehouse. The occupant wasn't walking so much as she was pacing. As she circled the large stone pillar, she'd glance at the entrance of the warehouse every few moments to check again if someone was entering. Each time a shadow had crossed the door frame, she'd briefly pause from her walking and hold her breath only to slowly let it out in a quiet sigh when the pedestrian would pass before resuming her pacing.

Something almost imperceptible shifted the woman's attention. She spun, immediately drawing her gleaming daggers and pointed her left toward the shadows.

A glinting object sailed through the air, end over end.

In one smooth motion, the woman sheathed her left blade and deftly plucked the shining stone out of the air.

"I believe this is what you're looking for," offered a woman's voice from the darkness.

Isabela inspected the stone, noting the spiderweb cracks covering its surface. She cut her left thumb with her blade, just enough to draw blood, and drew it across the stone. The tiny cracks glowed with cheery orange light with the application of the blood, and the pirate sighed in relief.

"Thanks," she said.

"Thank _you_," laughed Athenril. "Your efforts tonight have earned me a good amount of coin."

"I'm not getting any of the gold I loaned you for seed money back, am I?" asked the corsair.

"Think of it as your buy-in price. You needed me to get in with Vincente and to find this little marvel. And just think - that rock is worth thousands. You only had to pay a few hundred. Quite a bargain, all told."

The voice sounded smug.

"Besides, the stone is what's important thing, isn't it? What's a little coin when your precious _sweetheart_ is in trouble?" mocked Athenril's voice.

The pirate grimaced but did not reply, for the voice was already gone. She carefully tucked the stone into her sash, and turned to leave.

* * *

The sun rose steadily into the sky as Hawke waited for Nicola. The young maid would normally wake the Fereldan woman much earlier, it wasn't like her to be late. She placed two fingers on the rain-streaked window, feeling the chill through the glass and watching the movement of the darkened sky. The low crack of thunder echoed in the room as the rain continued to fall in fat droplets that plastered themselves against the tall window.

The door creaked as it slowly opened. Hawke turned with a smile.

"It's about time you got here, Nicola. I've been starving all morning, and..."

The words died on her lips as an aged elven maid with her graying hair done up in a neat bun entered the room bearing a covered silver tray. The woman nodded at the Champion and said "Begging your pardon, milady. I am Judeth, and I will be your maidservant starting today. Please do not hesitate to ask for anything."

The Champion looked at the tray, disappointed.

"What happened to Nicola?" she asked.

"Nicola is no longer with us. The lord has given her a new assignment," she said with a deep bow after placing the tray on the table. "Will that be all, messere?"

"No... thank you, Judeth," Hawke replied.

The elf bowed once more and closed the door behind her.

Hawke lifted the tray cover and inhaled the fragrance of warm porridge, spiced and served with heavy cream and a freshly sliced peach. The sweet, earthy smell of the food finished waking her up, and she lifted the heavy silver spoon and took a bite. The flavor was slightly sweeter than she would have liked, but it was satisfying to her hunger all the same. She took a second bite, and then a third, before her spoon hit something hard in the bowl.

The Champion carefully lifted the lump with her spoon and touched it carefully with the tip of her index finger. It was hard, and didn't give at all. She pondered for a moment while sucking the bit of porridge from her finger, and then wiped the rest of the cereal from the object with her napkin.

Hawke held it between her index finger and thumb and lifted it to her eye. It was a shard of green crystal, no more than a chip the size of her thumbnail. It looked semi-transparent, and was clearly broken from something larger. She turned it over and over in her palm, thinking about what it could mean, while idly chewing a slice of peach.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of metal creaking on metal. The heavy oaken door to her room slid open slightly.

The Champion looked up. She quickly tucked the crystal shard into her belt and peeked through the crack in the doorway. The heavily armored guards that she had passed each morning were nowhere to be found. She narrowed her eyes, silently weighing her options. The Fereldan woman dressed with as much speed as she could, passing over all of the elaborate gowns she had been given in favor of a common brown wool frock left in the back of the wardrobe. She quickly grabbed one of the white silk scarves from the armoire and looped it about her neck, then quietly pushed her door open.

_"The first thing to know about sneaking around is to look like you belong there. Dressing in dark clothes only works at night, when the surroundings are equally dark. If there are ten merchants dressed similarly, who's to say which is the thief?"_

Isabela's words echoed in Hawke's mind as she used the scarves and cloth napkins to approximate a bonnet and dress similar to what the serving women wore. She stepped out from her room, and began moving toward the great hall through the now-familiar corridor. She paused when she heard voices approaching from further ahead. Sidling in behind an empty suit of armor, Hawke listened carefully.

"Is she _really_ the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Aye, that she is."

"But isn't the Champion an eight foot tall man what killed the Arishok o' them oxmen with his bare hands?"

"What are you, daft? No, she's just a prissy noble like any other. Wears them fancy gowns, eats them fancy foods, smells like them fancy perfumes."

"But I've heard stories that he drinks wine from a cup made from the oxman's skull!"

"Aye, and she wipes her ass with jewels and pisses rainbows too. You sound like such a child."

"I do not. I heard from my friend, who heard from the baker who supplies the Champion with his favorite bread, I did."

The voices continued to approach. Isabela's words came once again unbidden.

_"The second thing is that people are suspicious of things that stand out. It isn't enough to simply look like you belong there if you don't act like it. A still painting can fool you for a moment, but the second your perspective changes, you can tell it isn't real."_

Hawke quickly dropped to her knees and took out her large cloth napkin. She kneeled before one of the suits of armor and began polishing its greaves with her makeshift rag as the guards entered her view. She kept her head bowed and stayed silent as the guards passed, still discussing her more salient attributes and what they would do with them.

"How many times must I tell you? She's a woman, with big beautiful tits and an ass like you wouldn't believe."

"Is that so?"

"I'd like nothing better than to give 'em a good squeeze, and show her what a real man is like."

"You'd best not let the lord hear you say that. The Champion's his guest, isn't he?"

"She, you bloody moron. And who's gonna tell him? You?"

"Well, no. Of course not."

"Damn right, if you know what's good for you."

The two guardsmen's voices grew softer as they passed Hawke without comment. The Champion continued to slowly and methodically polish the metal boot for a while longer, making sure that they had gone before rising. She continued down the corridor, and was about to descend the large, spiral staircase to the foyer and the main exit, when she spotted Nolan speaking with two additional armored guards at the foot of the stair.

The Fereldan woman quickly thought over her options. The stair was clearly out of the question. There was no way for her to sneak past the self-professed handyman without being seen, and he had spent too much time with her for her to fool him with her paltry disguise. She took a step away from the railing to avoid being spotted. She looked out through the iron-wrought window frames at the overcast skies outside, and she remembered a conversation she had in weather much like it.

_"If you can't fool them and you can't fight them, you've got to avoid them. Don't be seen, gather more information, and think of other ways to get at your goal. There are often alternate ways to get what you want."_

_"Does this really work?"_

_"I convinced you to stay in and give me a massage, didn't I?"_

_"But you said it was because you hurt your foot and had a cramp!"_

_"Alternate ways, my lovely. Alternate ways."_

Hawke sighed wistfully before snapping back to reality. She turned and continued down the hall, moving toward the mysterious east wing. She glanced about the unfamiliar area, taking in each of the large mural paintings that spanned the walls and various hunting trophies on display. The Champion passed by the claws of a massive bear, several mounted sets of antlers, and an enormous snarling wolf on display before she stopped in front of a particularly large painting that depicted the lord of the manor standing over a fallen dragon. Directly above the ornate frame hung an enormous skull, presumably of the beast on the canvas. To the left and right of the portrait, two intricately carved jade dragons stood on a pair of stone pedestals. The cloudy green figurines curled like serpents around respective iron spires.

Something was missing. The Champion inspected the carvings a bit more closely.

The left of the iron spires had a green crystal set at the top, but the right did not.

The Champion withdrew the small green stone she had found in her porridge earlier that day and examined it. The stone was scuffed near its flattened base, as if it had been pried out of a setting with a knife. Hawke turned it over in her palm before inserting it into the empty spire. It slid into place with an abrupt clicking sound. Hawke blinked at it, before inspecting them again. Something about the positions of the dragon figurines was off. The heights of the dragons were slightly different.

She reached down and examined the base of the carvings but fifound nothing out of the ordinary.

_Hawke landed painfully on her rear as her training partner stood over her with hands on hips. The smirking Rivaini extended a hand to the fallen Fereldan._

_"Just remember... When all else fails, just grab, pull, and twist," laughed the pirate._

"Well, here goes nothing," Hawke muttered to herself as she attempted to twist the higher of the two statues. The base of the carving swiveled and Hawke felt something inside give way. The figurine rotated slightly under the gentle pressure and the Champion heard a click from the painting. She silently padded to the huge mural, examining the frame closely.

One corner of the massive canvas was loose. The Champion pulled on it carefully and a subsection of the painting swung outward with a low creak. The ornate oak frame had cleverly disguised hinges built into it, and Hawke pulled it back to reveal a stone staircase descending into darkness. She took a breath and quickly moved downward.

* * *

"Tell me you've got the dragon nugget or whatever it is that Daisy and Blondie wanted, because that son of a nug wrangler's party is tomorrow night. We're running out of time," said Varric in greeting as Isabela approached the table.

"We've managed to locate two more of the poisoned canisters. In addition to the one at the Chantry, we found one in the great hall of the Merchant's Guild, and a second near the bazaar in Lowtown," added Aveline, who stared down at her still-full tankard.

"They're each positioned for maximum coverage," said Fenris, taking a sip from his goblet. "All it will take is a bit of wind and the gas could spread all over Lowtown."

"Well, I've got some good news. Here you go, kitten. One wyvern's bezoar, slightly used," replied the pirate cheerfully, placing the stone on the table.

"You actually found one?!" asked Anders, leaning forward suddenly. He looked over the small object and his eyes widened in shock.

"Oh, I knew you would find it! This is wonderful news," Merrill chirped happily. She picked up the little stone and examined it. "It's… amazing. So much power in such a little thing. Can you feel it? Just the air around it is making my skin tingle," breathed the mage as she held the bezoar in her hands.

"But is it enough, kitten? Can we stop the poison with this?"

"It should be… if Anders and I work together on this, I think we can do it," said Merrill, still staring intently at the little stone.

"Alright, kitten. I'm leaving it in your hands then."

"We've still got the fourth canister to find. This is where Hawke would normally save the day," said Sebastian. He smiled. "I bet she's already escaped, like she did back at Chateau Haine."

"We're not waiting around for Hawke to save herself. We didn't before, and we aren't going to start now. We aren't abandoning Hawke," replied Isabela grimly.

"Come on, Rivaini. You abandon people all the time. Hawke especially," joked Varric.

"Not this time, Varric. Not Hawke," Isabela said.

"And what happens if it comes down to hundreds of innocent people or Hawke? Can you make that decision? Can any of us?" asked Aveline with a sigh.

"I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Without Hawke, those people are as good as dead anyway," answered the pirate quietly. "I've had my share of blame for what others have done in the past. If these people die, it won't be because of what we did or didn't do. It'll be because some madman decided to poison them all."

"The ball is tomorrow night. We're running out of time," grunted Fenris with finality.

"With or without you, I'm going after her," answered Isabela in a tone that brooked no argument. The others at the table looked at her dubiously, but they saw the determination in her eyes.

Aveline cleared her throat.

"We're with you, whore," she said, and the rest of the assembled friends nodded.

"Good. Kitten, you and Anders will start disarming the poison that we know about. Start with the most populated areas first, then work your way down," the captain began.

"People will notice if Merrill and I are performing magic in broad daylight. It will take some time to disarm the mechanism. What if the templars get called? The last thing we need is to end up in a dungeon at the Gallows," pointed out Anders.

"That's why Varric will accompany you. He'll be able to smooth it over with any onlookers, and provide a good distraction while you two work," answered the dusky corsair.

"I'll give them some of my finest vintage of bullshit," promised Varric, nodding.

"Meanwhile, I need Fenris and Mistress Muscles to organize all of her guardsmen and find that last canister," the pirate continued.

"We've been searching for days already," protested Aveline.

"Then you should check the areas you missed. We don't have much time left. Start with the areas where the most people will be, and narrow it from there. The bilge rat has already shown us what he likes - places where the most victims will gather. Try to prioritize those."

"Aye, so I'll just go with Fenris and the others to help them search for the remaining canister then," began the archer as he began to rise from his chair.

"Oh no, I've got something else I need from you," said Isabela, placing a finger on his sternum and gently pushing him back into his seat.

"But..." Sebastian protested.

"I have a special task for you, prince of Starkhaven," growled Isabela, looming over him like a dragon staring down its supper. "One that only you can accomplish. And you **will** accomplish it."

Sebastian visibly wilted before her glare. He swallowed hard before raising his hands and saying "I am at your service, my... er... lady."

* * *

The stone staircase spiraled downward into the darkness. Hawke moved carefully and quietly as she could, keeping one hand against the wall for safety and feeling each step as she went. She counted the number of steps as she went down, trying to gauge how far she had come. The darkness didn't bother her too much; as long as she was able to keep an accurate count and the stairwell didn't branch, she knew she'd be able to return without any difficulty. The depth, however, had begun to worry her. By her calculation, she had already gone below the ground floor of the estate, and was about to go below what a normal cellar depth should be. Was there something buried even further beneath the manor house?

Hawke turned the thought over and over in her mind as she descended the stair. An escape tunnel? A dungeon? A treasury? A panic room? All of them, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was something du Gaudet had decided was worth protecting.

The Fereldan woman continued to wonder as she passed the depth for a second basement, and continued her path down. She counted her hundredth step as she reached the end of the staircase, which she estimated would put her at about three levels down from where she began. She swept around with her feet for anything on the ground, but apparently the stone floor had been kept clean.

She sniffed the air. She could smell the faint tang of iron and rust, which meant that there was metal nearby. She stood for a moment, trying to decide which way to go. The dark was still impenetrable, and the walls split from the stairwell entrance, meaning it was an actual room.

Hawke held her fingertips to one side and slowly tried to sidle sideways until she touched the other side. She counted off steps - one, two, three, four, before her fingertips brushed the opposite wall. It had to be some sort of hallway, no room would be this narrow. She made sure that the wall would lead back to the staircase, and moved further into the room.

The woman continued forward slowly, feeling along the walls with her fingers and continuing to count steps until she reached the other side of the room. She had counted forty three paces to that point, and then reached out with both hands, brushing her fingers along the stone wall. She felt a metal hinge on top of a heavy wooden door, and explored the entryway further with her fingers. A heavy metal ring was affixed to the right side of the massive door, and an empty metal support, probably for barring it. A moment later, her fingers brushed a heavy wooden bar, probably for the door.

Hawke wrapped her fingers around the heavy iron ring and pulled. The hinges groaned as the door swung outward, but the room remained dark. The foul smell of stale blood, sweat, and rust immediately assaulted her nostrils. She felt something else, a subtle prickle in the air that made things feel… wrong somehow.

Then she heard a woman's voice come from the darkness.

"Who's there?" it called.

Hawke froze, trying to keep silent. The sudden sound had vanished as soon as it came, leaving her to wonder whether she had just imagined it.

"I know you're out there! Answer me!" clamored the voice again.

"I was just looking for the privy," replied Hawke, flippant as always. The prickling feeling in the air intensified, causing the tiny hairs on her skin to tickle.

"You're not the caretaker," accused the voice. It seemed to be coming from the left side of the room. Hawke could hear soft slaps, the sound of flesh on stone. Walking barefoot, perhaps?

"Let me out of here," the voice asked, more subdued.

"Let you out of where?" asked Hawke.

"Out. Out of _here_. You aren't one of them, are you? He's never sent a woman down here, not yet. He only sends men to do the hurting," answered the voice, exasperated.

Hawke heard a shake, the sound of metal moving slightly. She felt a tiny pulse of energy wash over her, as if someone was fanning her from a distance. The tickle in the back of her head told her that magic was at work.

"Why don't you start by telling me who you are and why you're down here?" asked the Champion, as she tried to explore the room as silently as she could. She felt along the walls with her fingers, trying to find some sort of landmark, or defining characteristics. About five paces in, she recognized a pair of heavy iron manacles. A quick sniff told her that they were rusty, but had the distinct odor of old, dried blood on them. A dungeon, she thought. Definitely.

The voice laughed, but it was a humorless, joyless sound.

"I'm the Champion of Kirkwall," the voice said. "Those monsters are holding me captive, and I need your help to escape."

"W-what?" exclaimed Hawke, suddenly stopping her exploration.

"That's right. My friends call me Hawke, though most know me as Champion. I've been imprisoned, and I need you to help me get out of here," said the voice.

"How can you be the Champion of Kirkwall?" asked Hawke.

"I know it sounds hard to believe, but it's true. If you could see me, you could tell. The lord of the manor… he is an evil man. He kidnapped me, subjected me to cruel tortures, and keeps me down here as his pet. Please, you must help me escape!"

Hawke paused a moment, weighing her options. The tingling was getting stronger. She needed to know more.

"How did you end up here?" she asked.

The voice sighed, exasperated.

"I was doing my duty as Champion of Kirkwall. You know, parties, socializing, business arrangements, that sort of thing. I was at a dinner party, invited by lord du Gaudet. There was delicious food and wonderful entertainment. Someone must have drugged my wine that night. I was here when I woke. Please, you must let me out!" the voice pleaded.

The real Champion paused to consider as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end.

"My family is rich, and I'm very generous to those who help me," the voice went on.

"Riches, you say?" asked Hawke.

"Just think of it! Gold, jewels, wealth beyond a commoner's dream!" promised the voice.

Hawke stood still for a moment in the silence.

"Or is it something else you want? Some leverage over the lord of the manor, perhaps? His darkest secrets, his weakest points?" the voice offered.

Hawke paused.

"Let's hear some more," she said cautiously.

The voice chuckled, a cruel and painful sound.

"Aye, you want to know the mighty du Gaudet's secrets, hmm? How he has dealings with maleficar, and how he traded me and my blood to the Void-cursed abomination for his own gains. Blood magic, you know," croaked the voice.

"Go on," urged Hawke.

"The horrors that man has visited upon me… they would turn your hair white and haunt your dreams for years. They did things to me, things that no Maker-fearing red-blooded woman should ever have to endure," the voice coldly replied.

"What things? What power does the man have?" asked Hawke.

"Think me a fool? Release me first, and I'll tell you all I know," answered the voice.

"How would I do that? I can't see a thing down here."

"Just come this way, in the direction of my voice. There's a weak spot in the hinge - a mechanism that just needs a bit of a push to open the door, but I can't get the leverage I need from this side of the bars. Find the pin that extrudes a bit at about waist level and push on it!"

Hawke hesitated for a moment, briefly considering the request. Could it be the work of a demon? She didn't feel the normal ripple in her connection to the fade that typically accompanied the presence of a demon, but she had enough experience with the more clever demons and abominations in the past that any sense could be fooled.

"Come on, you'll do neither of us any good dawdling. Once they know you've found this place, you're as good as dead. They can't afford to let you live," the voice added.

Hawke turned her options over in her mind, hoping she was not making a mistake. She sighed and fumbled forward in the darkness, momentarily losing her bearings as she let go of her spot on the wall. She stepped forward with her hands out, counting the steps as she moved. She heard scrabbling sounds from the other side, and the slap of bare feet on stone. She edged forward and her fingers touched cold iron bars.

"It's by me. Follow the sound of my voice," said the other in the darkness.

Hawke continued to move toward that direction, touching her fingers to the bars every now and again. Suddenly, her fingers touched warm skin. It had to be the other woman's fingers.

The woman immediately reached out to touch Hawke's hands. A spark of invisible energy erupted at the contact, washing over the real Champion's skin in waves. The woman didn't seem to notice. Hawke noted that the other woman lacked any sort of calluses on her hands and wondered who she really was. The voice's fingers lingered on the Champion's own calluses from handling weapons for most of her life.

"Good. It's just below here. Feel for my fingers again," ordered the voice, quavering slightly in anticipation.

Hawke knelt down, feeling along the edges of the bars until she came across what felt like a hinge with a protruding heavy iron nail. It had somehow come loose from the hinge it was supposed to be holding in place. A good kick from her side would probably be enough to dislodge it.

"This is it! Just a hard push and I should be able to get the door open!" urged the voice.

Silently hoping it was not a mistake, Hawke brought her foot down on the hinge as hard as she could. The sudden impact jarred the pin loose causing it to fall, and Hawke heard the sound of iron grating against rock, followed by the slapping of flesh on stone as her new companion scrambled through the newly opened hole in the bars.

"Free! Free at last! Oh, you won't regret this. Gold, jewels, all yours for freeing me," crowed the woman's voice. Thin hands reached out and grasped Hawke's arm. There was a brief explosion of magical energy at the contact, and a dark and oily sensation washed over the Champion.

The other woman apparently didn't notice. "Come, we must leave this place. Lead the way, my brave friend," she urged.

"There's nothing else down here?" asked the Fereldan woman. "Another way out, perhaps?"

The voice laughed bitterly, a joyless raspy sound.

"No, my friend. The only things down here are pain and suffering. You have to get me out of here," it urged.

"I'll do what I can," promised the Champion. "Now about that blood magic..."

The voice chuckled cruelly. "The monster had a partner, a pet maleficar named Umthondo. It was _that_ son of a darkspawn that did this to me. He cut me, he _carved_ me like I was a canvas! Me! The Champion of Kirkwall!"

The prisoner spat.

"Thank the Maker that the thrice-cursed bastard has since parted ways with that apostate. Without his dark adviser, he knows as much about blood magic as a turnip. Now let us away. You can ask your questions once we are free."

The pair moved carefully. The woman would occasionally stumble as they walked in the darkness, leaning on Hawke for support when she did so. She felt very slight, as if malnourished and underweight… the prisoner must have weighed around the same or possibly less than the willowy Merrill. Each time they touched, Hawke could feel a small jolt of magical energy released into the air. It was slow going as Hawke kept her hands out carefully in front to make sure they didn't run into anything, and the small, mincing steps that her companion took. The moments passed in silence and the duo reached the foot of the staircase.

Hawke's companion tensed in anticipation when her foot touched the first step. She trembled as she began taking more rapid steps up the spiraling stone staircase. Hawke followed closely behind. The only sounds that Hawke could hear were her her shoes and the prisoner's bare feet slapping the stone and the sound of her companion's labored breathing as they continued to ascend. The prisoner was tiring, but pushing herself further. Hawke could sense the desperation in the other woman as she climbed the steps.

It was the interruption to the rhythmic sounds of ascension that was her first warning. The steady slap-slap of feet on stone had settled into a periodic, comforting beat to the Champion's ears, but when a slight buzzing in her ears interrupted the beat, the Fereldan's ears pricked up.

"Something strange is going on," she hissed at her companion, pausing for a moment.

The prisoner continued without slowing.

"It doesn't matter," the voice growled. "None shall stand in my way."

Her companion redoubled her efforts, climbing even faster with an almost fevered urgency. Hawke kept up, but grew wary. They had nearly reached the top, when a soft, eerie blue glow gently illuminated the stairwell. For the first time, Hawke could see her companion.

Medium-length dark, stringy hair framed deathly pale skin. Tattered rags hung loosely on a body that was once beautiful, but had suffered from lack of adequate food and rest. A multitude of scars, both large and small, decorated the prisoner's arms and legs in patterns and shapes like writing in a language Hawke had never seen. The scars seemed reminiscent of raised tattoos, spiraling and swirling around the skin in an oddly specific shape. Her companion's breathing grew heavy as she climbed, clearly unused to the exertion. The approaching light brightened, causing Hawke's sense of caution to clamor as loudly as it could in the back of her mind.

Suddenly, bright, near-blinding white energy erupted from the walls and ceiling, hurling both women back. The prisoner snarled in rage and threw herself forward at the brightly glowing wards etched into the stone again, only to be thrown back a second time.

Hawke could smell the scent of burned flesh.

"They will not put me back in that hole," the prisoner growled. "The Champion of Kirkwall will not be chained!"

She leaped forward a third time, charging against the warded area, and was thrown back again just as easily. The scars on her skin began pulsing and glowing a dull red color. The smell of singed hair and skin grew thick in the air.

"Perhaps there's a way to turn it off?" asked Hawke.

Her companion turned around to answer. The woman's face had been badly disfigured. Glowing scars crossed her cheeks and lips, creating a macabre grin on her face. Her left cheek was covered in raised spiraling scar tissue, but her right was left pristine and smooth. The most unsettling part was her eyes, so utterly wild and full of fear.

"I don't…" she began before trailing off, eyes widening in shock and rage.

"_**YOU**_,"she hissed.

With the guttural scream of a frenzied animal, the prisoner leaped at Hawke, trying to close her bony fingers around the Fereldan's neck. Hawke struggled to stay upright, but the prisoner was heedless of her own safety.

"Give me back my face! Give it _back_!" the prisoner screamed as Hawke finally lost her balance and the pair tumbled backward down the stairs.

"All of this! It's all your fault! They wanted you! They did this to me because of _you_! Give it back!" she continued to shriek as they fell.

Sharp pains pierced Hawke's sides and back as they crashed into the steps. She gritted her teeth through the pain, but it was all she could do to keep her assailant from closing those bony fingers around her neck. Hawke idly wondered whether this would finally be her end - her neck snapped by a crazed prisoner in the dungeon stairwell of a villain.

A familiar pirate's voice suddenly spoke inside her mind.

_If you're ever in a situation you can't control, remember my first and favorite rule._

Hawke twisted her body with the fall, forcing her crazed opponent's body to cushion her against each subsequent step. The seconds passed as they tumbled and fell down the stairs, grunting and growling at each other like wild animals. She focused on staying alive and blunting the impacts from the steps as the pair plunged down the steps until finally, with a loud crack, they landed at the base of the stairwell. Hawke heard an audible crack as they finally reached the bottom, her assailant's body below her, and the prisoner went limp.

"When all else fails, always be on top," recited Hawke, as she sat up against a wall to catch her breath. "Thank you, Isabela."

The magical energy in the air exploded. Blinding pain erupted from every inch of the Champion's body, twisting her in place and setting every nerve ending on fire. Patches of color burst behind her eyes, swirling and taking shape as she gritted her teeth. The colors coalesced into a blurry figure, reaching out to her. The features took shape and Hawke realized it was Isabela, reaching out to her. She extended her own hand toward the pirate's, but her fingers passed right through as if she were trying to grasp mist. A second figure, gaunt and skeletal, loomed behind the sea captain, and its presence was so dark that all of the bright lights and colors that were flashing dimmed as they were pulled into it. The deepest parts of the void began to burn with black flame, forming mystical symbols that her mind found familiar, yet didn't recognize. A split second later and Hawke felt her own consciousness being dragged into the blackness.

She screamed.

As soon as the sound broke the silence, Hawke was jolted back to consciousness. The magic dissipated as quickly as it had come, but the burning sigils she had seen were etched into her memory. They were like no magical symbols she had ever seen; they were like fitting an enormous wave into a thimble. She slapped her own cheeks twice, trying to focus and shake the image from her mind.

Hawke quickly checked the madwoman's body, and it was as she guessed - the scarred woman was dead from a broken neck. The hands that had been seeking her life had finally fallen limp. Hawke suddenly felt her insides turn to ice. The woman's body was covered in scar tissue, carved to match the various symbols Hawke had seen in her pain-induced vision.

Hawke sat in the silence for what seemed like hours, gingerly touching the bruises forming on her skin. Her ears pricked up when she heard the sounds of boots on stone descending the stairwell. She struggled to rise, but her battered body protested.

"Why can't it ever just go to plan? Why is it always pain?!" muttered the Fereldan to herself.

"Looks like you've been a mite busy this morning," drawled Nolan as he appeared from the stairs with a lantern. "Ah don't want to hurt ya, but ah'll do what's necessary," he warned.

"How did you find me?" asked Hawke as Nolan helped her up.

The thin man was silent as he put one of Hawke's arms over his shoulder.

"The jewel, the guards, the prisoner... someone set me up for this," Hawke reasoned. "Someone _wanted_ me to find this."

"Ah reckon that if somebody did want you to find all this, it'd have to be for a good reason," Nolan said, breaking the silence as they began to ascend the stairs.

"What I can't figure out is _why_. It can't be to escape, there's nothing _down_ here but the prisoner," mused Hawke aloud as he helped her up the steps.

"Ain't mah place to say, your ladyship," replied Nolan.

They moved in silence for the rest of the climb. The lanky man escorted the Champion all the way back to her room, where a tray with healing poultices and pain relieving herbs had been set out for her.

Hawke looked at him suspiciously when she was shown the door.

"Seems to me that a hired man has to fulfill his obligations, your ladyship," he said, inclining his head. "Might be that a man's word is his bond, and he's sworn to honor his word. Might also be a few unsavory things a man might witness while doing his duty weren't included in those obligations. Someone oughta know what those are, even if a man can't exactly say. Funny how things like that might work out."

Hawke looked at him with hard eyes, but he had already turned and begun walking away.

"Are you saying…" she began.

"Ah ain't sayin' nothin'. Just a little idle talk. You'd best prepare for the ball tonight, your ladyship. His lordship wants you all prettied up, nice and proper," he said without looking back.

* * *

The grand ballroom stretched on and upward far beyond what Hawke was used to seeing back at her home. Rich red carpets covered the floors, as guests wearing the finest in silks, leathers and velvets intermingled. Some were chatting among themselves, while others gathered near the long tables laden with freshly-prepared meats, cheeses and assorted delicacies. A steady stream of finely-dressed elves paraded from the kitchens bearing trays of _hors d'oeuvres_ and champagne glasses to the guests, as well as heavier fare to the serving tables. A team of gaily-dressed musicians played lilting music with their vielles for the room, adding rhythm and harmony to the steady murmurs of polite conversation. Near the end of the hallway, a plethora of honored guests lined up to be announced by the booming voice of du Gaudet's valet.

"The Compte and Comptesse of Bourdain," announced the barrel-chested majordomo from the entrance, as a wispy-haired elderly man in dark blue velvets escorted an equally elderly woman that positively gleamed with gold and silver jewelry. Compte Bourdain handed his jewel-encrusted cane to one of the guards in gleaming plate armor for inspection, before hobbling to join his wife by the buffet tables.

Hawke stood off to one side from the gathered nobles, looking out the window at the setting sun. The elven servants had already begun lighting the braziers and activating the glowstones in the ballroom. She sighed as she looked down at her dress. It was a sleek number tailored to fit her frame. She wore an off-shoulder steel gray gown that hugged her hips, with a wide belt of silver chain links and a large sapphire belt buckle. The Champion's creamy skin was offset by a pair of elbow-length dark velvet gloves with silver bracelets set with sapphires, and her shoulders and neckline were covered by a white feather boa draped loosely about her neck. Soft velvet slippers encased her feet, hidden by the length of her gown. She lifted her glass and sipped the wine, noting the sweetness of the beverage. It was a fine vintage, a Tevinter wine by the taste of it, but she was in no mood to enjoy the flavor. She glanced about for a place to set her glass down, and a worried-looking lady-in-waiting quickly brought a tray to take it from her.

"Marques Adagio de la Cruz, Blade of the Queen, Lord of the Seleny River Valley, and his guest, Lady Sara Najafi of Ayesleigh," boomed the attendant. An elven man in green with a beautiful Rivaini woman in a backless white gown on his arm stood before the manservant, but two heavily armored guards locked their halberds before them, barring their way. The elf grimaced before unbuckling the rapier from his belt and handed the weapon to the manservant. The guards retracted their polearms and the couple sauntered past, smiles returning to their faces.

Hawke looked back out the window, beyond the gardens to the mountains on the horizon where the sun had begun to vanish behind the snow-covered peaks in the distance. The setting sun illuminated her face with a soft, orange glow for scant moments before vanishing completely behind the mountains.

"Why do you hide yourself out here, my dear?" came a deep voice from behind her. Its owner, Lord du Gaudet, strode to her confidently and placed one large hand on her gloved forearm.

"I don't feel very comfortable here," replied the Champion. She glanced at him. He was dressed in his customary green velvets with gold embroidery. His hair was pulled back in a small tail tied with a deep green silk ribbon, and his velvet coat sat snugly about his broad shoulders and barrel chest. He wore a white satin shirt trimmed with lace above deep green velvet slacks, and soft leather boots. He would have looked very handsome, had he not had a sinister gleam in his eye, and his upper lip not been curled into a semblance of a sneer. Her eyes lingered at the golden amulet around his throat.

"It is important that you mingle with our guests. I want to make sure that everyone here knows exactly who you're here for," he said, his voice deepening. He gestured toward the crowds.

"Ser Ghyslain of Tantervale and his escort, Lady Fara of House Calibrese," announced the valet. A balding man with streaks of grey in his brown beard marched forward with a military bearing. He was accompanied by a fresh-faced girl at least a decade his junior dressed in a pale pink silk gown with a bored expression on her face.

Hawke glanced back at du Gaudet. He looked at her with a bemused expression, tracing the outline of the silver sapphire pendant at her collar with a finger before raising her chin. He leaned toward her, seemingly intent on kissing her. She turned from him, a frosty look shining in her ice-blue eyes. He chuckled and kissed her turned cheek.

"Defiant till the end, my Champion. Best you remind yourself that you are mine," he smirked, tapping the golden medallion around his neck. Three out of four gemstones the size of Hawke's thumbnail glowed with unnatural light, though the fourth was dull and lifeless. "You'll do as I ask and you'll like it, or all of those precious, ordinary people you've fought so hard to keep safe will all die in agony."

She grimaced at him, her even, white teeth gritted and a murderous look in her eyes. He chuckled.

"You couldn't bear to have it on your conscience, could you? All those poor, defenseless, _worthless_ people just biting and clawing and tearing each other to bloody pieces," he continued. She could practically see the smugness dripping from his voice. "You'd like nothing better than to tear me apart right now. But you can't, can you? You can't risk it, because the moment I die, so shall they."

She sighed as her shoulders slumped. She tightened her lips and turned from him, though the icy look never left her eyes.

"Get it out of your system while you can, my Champion. You are _mine_. Mentally... emotionally..." he began, placing both hands on her bare shoulders and gently squeezing. He leaned in and she could feel the heat from his body on her back. "... and _physically_," he concluded, whispering into her ear. She felt sick, a roiling wave of disgust grabbing her from deep within.

She recoiled from him, twisting her shoulder to throw his hand off. He sneered at her, taking a step forward.

"His royal highness, Sebastian Vael, Crown Prince of Starkhaven..." began the herald. Hawke's ears pricked up. Sebastian? Here? The valet coughed nervously before continuing. "And his escort, Captain Isabela di Falcore, Princess of Pearl-diving, Herald of the Honeyed Valley, and Keeper of the Champion's Box."

Lord du Gaudet coughed violently as he heard the valet's announcement while the crowds of nobles buzzed in curiosity over the odd introduction. Hawke ignored them all. She momentarily glanced at Sebastian in his ivory-colored doublet and trousers with brown trim before moving on to the woman at his side, and her breath caught in her throat.

Isabela stood next to Sebastian, scanning the crowd for someone or something. Her shoulder-length hair had been done up in a loose bun, and the normally wild locks fell instead in ringlets that softly framed her heart-shaped face. Small bands of gold with pearls had been woven into her hair, and they sparkled in the light of the cheerful glowstones. Her jewelry had been buffed to a mirror sheen, but what really drew Hawke's eye was the evening gown she wore. Isabela had forgone her usual gold choker and tunic, and instead wore a form-fitting silk dress, royal blue trimmed with gold. The gown was cut high on both sides, showing her bare legs and delicate feet clad with golden gladiator-style sandals with shining straps wrapping about her calves up to just below the knee. Unlike her usual attire, it had a high neck with a collar and yet the precise tailoring and tight-fitting silk left little of her luscious figure to the imagination. The outfit accentuated her gorgeous breasts, trim waist, and rounded hips with interesting plays of fabric, while leaving her arms exposed. Instead of her customary leather gloves and shoulder armor, her dusky skin was bare save for a number of jewel-encrusted gold bracelets at her wrists. A line of lilies embroidered on the front of the gown accentuated the contours of her body, starting at her shoulder and growing diagonally down across her chest. The pirate was stunning; Hawke couldn't tear her eyes away.

"You know, Lord du Gaudet, I think you're right. I should go and mingle with your esteemed guests," smirked Hawke, slipping past him and moving toward the guests. A nearby guard began to follow, but du Gaudet held up a hand.

"There will be time for that later. Let her test the limits of her leash for now. I will soon bring her to heel," he said, rubbing his chin.

Hawke wasted no time. She moved as quickly as she could, but her gown tightly hugged her hips and restricted her stride. She frowned as she forced herself to take small, mincing steps through the groups of nobles. As she approached, several attempted to strike up conversation with her.

"I say, is that the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Oh Champion, you simply _must_ meet Lord Cornelius."

"Champion, it is lovely to see you again."

She nodded and dismissed them as quickly as she could. She begged their pardons, and promised to speak with them soon, but there was someone she absolutely _had_ to speak with. She smiled and waved politely and pushed past those who crowded around her, but her eyes never left her target.

The pirate's amber eyes lit up and the corners of her lips curled upward when she spotted the approaching Fereldan woman. She controlled herself, holding in the feeling of relief that washed over her like a hot bath on a cold day. Instead, she allowed herself to smirk, drinking in the sight of Hawke's swaying hips and shapely legs as she walked forward in her hip-hugging dress. Isabela allowed her smirk to grow, and inwardly grinned at the flush growing on Hawke's cheeks.

* * *

"Isabela, do ye see-" began Sebastian, looking the wrong way through the crowd. "Isabela?"

The prince looked to his side, finding an empty spot where he had expected a pirate captain to be standing. He looked up and saw her disappear into the crowd, slipping between a pair of silk-clad gentlemen that both looked on appraisingly as she passed. He thought for a moment, shrugged, and helped himself to a glass of wine.

* * *

The pirate had spotted her, and the two approached each other. Gently pushing her way through the gathering crowd, Hawke increased her pace. Finally, she reached her lover. Isabela smirked and clasped Hawke's right hand in hers.

"Hawke," she said.

"Isabela," acknowledged the Champion. "You look stunning."

"I _told_ you that I'm perfectly capable of carrying on polite conversation without using the words 'shit' or 'ass', didn't I?" Isabela laughed. The sound brought a breath of relief over Hawke, like a cool breeze on a hot day. The Champion smiled her first genuine smile in what felt like years. Had it only been a few days since she had last seen the pirate? The affairs of the previous week felt like a blur after du Gaudet had issued his ultimatum. He had sent servants to fit her for the dress, prepare her for the party, and personally invite several of the guests as a showing of his power over her.

Those specific guests seemed to be edging closer. An old noblewoman with her hair done up so tightly that it actually stretched her wrinkled skin taut approached, pulling a fur stole closer about her bony shoulders with one hand, while waving with her other. She called out in a shrill, nasal voice.

"Champion! Oh, Champion, how lovely to see you here!"

"Well met, Lady Janice," greeted Hawke in a slightly strained voice.

Isabela winced as her palm felt a pinch. The Fereldan's grip on her hand had tightened painfully at the sound of Lady Janice's voice. She put on a smile and slid next to her lover.

"I had heard you came to this lovely gathering with the host, my Champion. Jenner was utterly distraught at the thought of having lost you," she shrilled.

"Lady Janice, you remember my _partner_ Isabela, don't you?" smiled Hawke, holding up Isabela's hand in hers.

"Oh, your business partner, of course," nodded Lady Janice. The corner of one lip curled very slightly in distaste. "Came with the crown prince of Starkhaven, didn't you?"

The canny pirate smiled and nodded. "The prince is just a good friend, but lacks the resources to partner with me long term. The Champion and I have a very _close_ relationship. Quite a slave driver, that one. She often makes me load and unload her special cargo from my hold _all night long_," she mused, seeing the color bloom on Hawke's cheeks. "And yet she's so _demure_ about it. You should see her take command, she really gets _hands on_ to ensure that her delicates are properly handled... it's utterly exhausting and enjoyable at the same time," the pirate continued, smirking.

Each word that Isabela spoke drove the noblewoman's left eyebrow up slightly higher than before. She idly wondered how high she could make it rise, before Hawke interrupted her.

"My apologies, Lady Janice, but I must speak privately with my partner. You understand, don't you?" smoothed Hawke, hooking her arm in Isabela's and pulling her away. The Champion glanced back and forth, noting that there were others moving to intercept them. A movement caught her eye, and she hit on an idea. She tugged the pirate gently, and the dusky corsair nodded and followed cautiously. Hawke swore under her breath at the small steps her dress continued to force her to take. She moved as quickly as she could, pulling Isabela onto the dance floor where several couples danced slowly to the melodic sounds of the musicians.

The Rivaini cocked an eyebrow.

"We need to talk," said Hawke, taking Isabela's left hand in hers and placing her right on the pirate's hip.

"I do like it when you lead," said the pirate with a smirk as they began a slow waltz across the dance floor. The duelist gently pulled her dance partner closer, reducing the extent of their movements.

"You can't be here," murmured Hawke quietly as they danced.

"And yet here I am. Funny how that works," replied the buxom buccaneer.

"I can't tell you why, but I'll figure something out. You mustn't stay, or you'll arouse suspicion," the Champion continued.

"Hawke, you know we'll always have your back. _I'll_ always have your back," said Isabela, pressing herself against her lover's body and putting both arms around Hawke's neck. "Trust in me," she breathed, almost too softly to hear, as they danced on.

Hawke slid her hands down the pirate's waist as they moved more slowly. "I..." she began, looking into Isabela's full eyes.

"Excuse me, my dear. May I cut in?" asked a masculine voice from behind.

Isabela quickly turned to look at who it was, but she already recognized the voice. Reluctantly, she released her embrace, and took a step back, affixing a false smile on her face.

"Of course, Lord du Gaudet," she said graciously, giving a half-curtsy and stepping back. She gave Hawke one more emotion-filled look, and turned to leave without looking back.

The nobleman stepped in and took Hawke's hand and began to lead. She matched his movements, but her gaze lingered on Isabela's back. They danced in silence for a few moments, but the Fereldan continued to avoid eye contact.

"What did she want, my Champion?" he asked, finally.

"To know what was going on. She's concerned," replied the Champion.

"As she should be. And you told her nothing?" nodded du Gaudet.

"I told her nothing."

"Good. Now get rid of her. Send her away for good, my Champion. Do it now," he said. "I don't want to ever see that wharf rat ever again."

"But..." protested the Champion.

"If you don't convince her to leave, my guards will be happy to solve this problem permanently. And the Starkhaven boy along with her," he said, his tone completely detached. "I don't care how you do it. Just make it happen, my dear."

He suddenly grabbed and lifted her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him.

"You belong to _me_, my Champion. You'd best get used to that idea quickly," he said, smirking. Then he kissed her.

Her insides seized up, and she tried to pull back, but his strong hands held her in place. Even at her most ardent, Isabela hadn't pushed like this. He took his pleasure from the kiss, while feelings of utter disgust spilled onto Hawke like someone had upended garbage directly over her mouth. His facial hair bit into her cheek, and his breath smelled as foul to her as an open grave. She felt sick as she felt his warm breath on her skin. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he released her.

Some of the other nobles had stopped dancing, and were buzzing with the latest gossip they had witnessed.

"My Champion," he smiled, dark eyes glittering. "Don't you have a task to do?"

Hawke withdrew from the man, inwardly relieved at the increased distance. Her body responded automatically to the smiling sycophants that tried to press in and introduce themselves to her, but her mind raced for a solution to her problem. She examined the problem mentally for the umpteenth time… there had to be some way to separate du Gaudet from his amulet. Once she managed to do that, he was effectively powerless.

Another bann, or lord, or duke, or arl, or something was speaking to her. She repeated his name, smiled and nodded, and let him take her hand in his. His lips moved as he spoke, but she paid little attention to his words and barely even registered what he looked like. Instead, she scanned the room for the pirate who commanded her attention. The gathered nobility were clumped about in small circles, but the sea captain seemed to be hidden.

"If I were Isabela, where would I be?" she asked herself. She sighed with a smile. "Where's the liquor?"

The Champion turned toward the buffet table and bar. A group of young nobles were gathered around it, calling for drinks. Hawke's suspicions proved correct as she found Isabela in the center of them, sipping from a crystal wine goblet and gesturing dismissively with one hand.

"... Sure, you _could_ take a frigate instead of a brig, but what you bring in power, you lose in speed. You might be have the capacity for a crew of a hundred, but you've got to feed and water them too. Give me some experienced hands and I'll have a brig to Rialto and back before you can even clear Hercinia."

"But wouldn't you be vulnerable to pirates? I've heard stories of the Raiders, all how bloodthirsty and unstoppable they are," scoffed a ruddy-cheeked young man in an orange velvet waistcoat.

"They'd have to catch me, first. That's the trick with pirates, you know. They tend to give up once their prey reaches safe harbor," she replied, taking a sip from her goblet.

"Couldn't they just lie in wait you along your course?" Hawke interjected. "The villains could set a trap for you and strike before your superior speed could be a factor."

The gathered onlookers listened carefully for the captain's answer.

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall, always the keen strategist," replied Isabela. She smiled.

"It's true that it could be troublesome. There are those who believe that keeping secrets is the best solution… the fewer that know your heading, the harder it is for your enemies to ambush you," the captain continued. Several members of the audience nodded.

"That particular strategy runs a special risk, especially if you've become as famous as the mighty Champion… if your enemy's learned your patterns and your favorite courses, they'll manage to get ahead of you anyway by study and planning. Then you'll be trapped like a tuna in a net, ready to become someone's supper. Better to mix things up a bit by calling on some trusted allies for a little protection in those situations."

Hawke sniffed. "Wouldn't that cut into the profits?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It might... in the short term. But you wouldn't put that much coin and effort into sailing a ship if you weren't in for the long haul, would you? For that you'd want mutually beneficial arrangements," replied the corsair.

"Sometimes we lack that option," murmured Hawke, turning away.

"You _never_ lack that option," whispered Isabela, placing her hand on the Fereldan's shoulder before she could go. "Apologies, my friends. I must chat with the Champion on some urgent business matters."

* * *

Moments later, the pair found a modicum of privacy by the entrance to the kitchens. Isabela leaned back against the wall, looking on as Hawke grew more irritable.

"I thought I told you to leave!" the Champion hissed.

"And I thought I told you to _trust_ in me," the captain replied.

"You don't understand. I… I need you to leave. It isn't safe for you here. I'll be back before you know it. Please," beseeched the Fereldan. "I… the lord of the manor would… I don't know what I would do if…"

Isabela immediately pulled Hawke into a tight embrace, holding her close. The pirate could feel her lover's body shaking slightly against hers while she whispered soothing noises to her paramour.

"I didn't come here to be safe, sweet thing. I came here because you _need_ me here, even if you won't admit it," Isabela chided gently.

"Just… let me fix this," Hawke argued. "I can do it, I know I can."

"You don't have to, Hawke," whispered Isabela. "Let me help."

The pirate ran her hand along her lover's back gently, and the Fereldan woman shuddered in pain. The dusky corsair stopped immediately and peered carefully at Hawke's exposed skin.

"What the-" she began, before narrowing her eyes. She carefully rubbed one thumb against a slightly discolored patch of Hawke's normally creamy skin, revealing the concealing makeup that had been applied to hide the purpling bruises beneath.

"Wait just a moment! What are you doing, Isabela? Stop that!" demanded Hawke as the buccaneer roughly held her and examined her skin with a practiced eye.

"That broomstick-gargling ash-spewing rotworm did this, didn't he?!" the pirate growled. The crystal wine goblet shattered in her hands as she clenched them into fists. The dark wine mixed with the Rivaini's blood as it dripped onto the floor from her white-knuckled grip.

"Isabela, what are you doing? It's nothing," Hawke began, but the captain was having none of it.

"Jillian and dozens of others are dead. That bastard put your in life-threatening danger, and made you push your friends away. Made you push _me_ away. All in the name of doing the right thing," she whispered as her face darkened in anger.

"He thinks he's so smart, pulling these strings and making us dance. Well, I've had all I can stand from this swaggering sack of shriveled up danglers. It's high time to cut those strings, and I'm just the girl to do the slicing," she finished.

"Come on, Isabela. Don't do something stupid, now is _not_ the time for this!" hissed the Champion.

The pirate paused and took a deep breath.

Hawke took a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she had finally gotten through to her. Maybe the bloody pirate would see the sense in it. Maybe-

The Champion's eyes flew open in surprise as Isabela suddenly bent her backward, kissing her deeply. The Rivaini woman's dexterous tongue gently pinned hers down, and Hawke could feel her toes curling and her eyes closing at the forcefulness of the kiss.

The Fereldan was barely coherent when the kiss finally broke. Her knees felt like jelly, and the only thing keeping her upright was the strong arm that the pirate had wrapped around her shoulders. She sputtered for a moment, struggling to find a coherent thought.

"Don't you worry, sweet thing. I've got a plan," Isabela replied with a mischievous smile, gently pressing her other fingertip to her lover's lips. The pirate gave Hawke a quick peck on the lips, a saucy wink, and then dropped the poor Champion ass-first onto the floor.

"Isabela! _Isabela!"_ shouted the Champion from the floor, finally having found her tongue as the pirate stormed directly into the crowd of nobles. If the buccaneer heard, she gave no response as she strode forward, smoothly pulling a sword from a surprised guard's scabbard and punching the hapless victim in the throat with the handguard. The unfortunate man dropped like a sack of potatoes, followed shortly by gasps and screams from among the nobles gathered nearby.

"That woman is going to be the death of me," sighed Hawke as she tried to get up.

* * *

"No, you need to focus at the base. Look, that's where the enchantment is weakest," said Anders, pointing at the canister.

"I already _tried _that. It's the weakest, because that's where the excess mana drains off. We need to focus it _there_, where all of the channels directly connect," replied Merrill.

"But if you overload it, that will cause it to detonate prematurely!" said Anders, sighing.

"You two are making me really nervous just watching you," interjected Varric, pacing several strides away. "Are you sure it's safe to be here?"

"It's as safe as anywhere in the Chantry," replied the revolutionary. "If it goes off, we're all going to die clawing each others' throats out."

"My reassurance knows no bounds," groaned the dwarf. "Can I stand outside yet?"

"Hush, Varric. It will all be fine, I know it will," reassured Merrill.

"You're sure you're sure?" asked Anders again.

"I'm telling you, it's right here. Can't you feel it, Anders?" asked the willowy elf.

"It just makes me nervous," he replied.

"Stop saying that! You're scaring the piss out of me!" grumbled the dwarf.

"I can feel the blood and the bezoar calling to it. I'm going to do it," said Merrill, concentrating hard.

"You're really sure?"

The Dalish elf didn't reply. Instead, she released the mana through the wyvern bezoar, and the entire room was suddenly filled with light.

* * *

Somewhere, far away, unbeknownst to its wearer, the soft light within a red gemstone set in an elaborate golden amulet gently faded.

* * *

His name was Jervis. He had grown up on a large farmstead just outside of the Nevarran border, planting turnips and raising pigs. He had grown up bigger than the rest of the other children on the farmstead and had quickly learned from childhood that being bigger and stronger had its clear advantages. The other children would give him their desserts if he threatened them, and he could always get the easier chores and extra portions of supper if he wasn't caught. The girls always found him interesting, because he commanded the respect and fear of the other children. And even if they didn't, all he had to do was push them a little and they'd come around. He'd eventually bore of them, of course, but it was always nice to have the options available. The other boys would happily take his discards, though once or twice they had tried to fight back against him. This had happened after he had been apprenticed to the smithy, however, and a few heavy punches from muscles hardened by smelting iron and forging steel had quickly disabused them of any ideas that he would fold so easily.

The life of a blacksmith, however, wasn't enough for Jervis. One night he got into a bar fight while visiting the biggest town he had ever seen, and ended up in the local stocks after breaking the bones of four other men who had been members of the local guard. They had called him a turnip digger.

While sitting in those stocks and contemplating the size of the world beyond his turnip farmstead, Jervis was approached by an old woman in battered and dented green armor. She thought he had some potential, and offered him a place with her group of sellswords called the Green Lances. They would train him, clothe him, feed him, and even pay him. In return, he would serve them faithfully as a soldier. He happily accepted and never looked back.

Life as a soldier was different than life as a blacksmith. He wasn't the best at fighting, nor was he the best at shooting or swordplay, but he was good enough. He was sufficient to protect the flank of his fellow soldier, and the jobs they did earned enough to keep him comfortably fed and the occasional visit to the local brothel. He made a few friends in the company and lost a few friends in the battles they fought, but he knew his trade and did his best.

He had traveled and served with the Lances for a few years when tragedy struck. Work had been growing scarce, and the Green Lances were running low on funds. Desertion was becoming commonplace, and Jervis had considered it more than once himself. Jervis himself stayed with the Lances mostly due to a lack of other options. Out of desperation, the Lances had begun robbing small, isolated hamlets and farmsteads for coin and loot. It wasn't lucrative, but it was enough to get by. The Marcher authorities were too spread out and disorganized to put serious thought to hunting bandits, and the nearest city, the City of Chains, was too busy dealing with its own massive refugee problem to pay attention to brigands in the field.

One fateful day the Lances sacked a small farmstead, much like the one where Jervis had grown up. The farmers were quickly bloodied and bound, and the remaining Lancers had begun carrying away the valuables, when a pair of them discovered a pretty young boy no older than fifteen hiding in the barn loft. Jervis had wanted to take him prisoner with the rest, but his ally had been without a brothel visit for too long and demanded to take his pleasure from their discovery. Jervis wasn't the sort to play the hero - he was the bandit by then, after all, so he turned to leave his comrade to do what he wished. As he left the barn, he heard a blood-curdling scream from inside, followed by an awful growl and a terrible, wet tearing noise. He looked back, only to see the bloodied upper torso of his friend land at his feet in a bloody, twitching heap. The pretty boy had vanished, and in his place was a mottled, hideous creature with distended limbs, cruel-looking claws, and bloated grey skin. It looked like a thing of nightmare. Jervis ran for his life.

He had later discovered that the boy had been a young apostate hiding his magical abilities. The creature was an abomination, and that it had killed the entire contingent of Lances, as well as all of the farmers and livestock. Accounts varied, but they all agreed that a small army of templars was finally assembled to bring it down after a month-long countryside rampage. Jervis had been the only one to escape with his life, a fact he kept hidden to avoid being thought unlucky. He wandered from place to place, sometimes acting as a highwayman, others doing odd jobs for others. Fortune finally smiled upon him one day, and he was recruited as a manor guard for a local lord. It wasn't much, but it paid, plus it provided food and lodging. The worst he'd have to deal with were the lord's vassals and the occasional irate mistress.

Occasionally he'd have to strong-arm a servant or push around a lordling, but overall the job was easy and uninteresting. Tonight, Jervis had the enviable assignment of standing watch over some grand gala event that his employer had thrown. Nobles and rich people from all over had gathered to attend, each wearing their jewels and finery and eating delicacies and drinking wines from bottles that easily cost more than his monthly pay twice over. With any luck, he'd be able to get some of the food after the party had ended, and possibly liberate some jewelry off of a passed-out drunken lordling.

He sighed and scratched his nose, idly wondering whether drunken nobles ever got into fistfights. A feminine scream suddenly erupted from the crowd, followed by another, then another. Panicked people began pushing and shoving in a large group, all fleeing… something.

Jervis waited patiently. He had learned from past experience that being the first one into a fight would usually get you killed. A few of the other guards had drawn their blades and were doing battle with what appeared to be a crazed bronze-skinned woman in a fancy blue ball gown. He had been in enough battles to know when he was outmatched. Her movements alone were enough to tell him that she was clearly their superior with the blade, and his as well. She moved the sword like it was a part of her body, and she had clearly anticipated each attack, using the minimum amount of effort to deflect or dodge each attempt on her life. She hadn't killed anyone yet, however, which was a good sign. Perhaps she was purposely avoiding fatal wounds. Jervis put his hand on the pommel of his sword…

"Er… I'm not too sure ye want to be doin' that," said one of the noblemen nearby. It was a handsome-looking man, Jervis thought, with ruddy auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. He was holding a wine goblet and watching the melee from a distance.

"She's a bit of a handful, and ye may just want to find another place t'be fer a bit if ye don't fancy gettin' a hole cut in ye," he added.

"She does seem a bit dangerous," replied Jervis, nodding.

"Aye, why d'ye think I'm warnin' ye? The Maker would'nae be pleased if more people were injured t'night than need be," he said.

"You seem to know her. Couldn't you convince her to stop hurting people?" asked Jervis, frowning.

The man laughed.

"Believe me, I've tried. She's like a woman possessed, that one. And you can clearly see what she's capable of. D'ye really think that I'd say no to someone who can do _that_ to a man?"

He pointed to the woman just as she kicked a guard between the legs, then kneed him in the chin. Jervis could have sworn he saw teeth knocked loose from the impact.

"I take your point," replied Jervis.

They observed in silence for a few moments. The woman continued to fight like a demon, dropping one hapless guard after another. Her remaining opponents formed a tight defensive group.

A heavy hand clapped Jervis on the shoulder. He turned to see his employer glowering at him, livid.

"What are you doing? Get in there and stop the bitch!" bellowed the lord.

The friendly nobleman gave a rueful shrug when Jervis glanced back.

He sighed and drew his sword, advancing to meet his fellow uniformed guards.

The woman showed little reaction to his presence, other than slightly turning her body to minimize any exposed weakness in his general direction. He tried a quick lunging cut aimed at her thigh, testing her defenses. She moved almost imperceptibly, shifting her weight and sliding her leg back just enough for the attack to miss. She hadn't even bothered to look in his direction.

Instead, the dusky swordswoman was looking through the crowd for someone or something. Suddenly, she stood up straighter and lowered her sword for a moment. Whoever it was she was looking for, she had found him. Jervis traced the line from her eyes to her probable target, and his heart sank. Leave it to his employer to be the one this monster was after.

"Protect the master!" shouted one of the other guards. The remaining six guards, Jervis included, fanned out and formed a protective line, interposing themselves between the demoness and her target. She held her position, turning slightly for a more defensive stance.

Jervis exchanged glances with Colin, another of the six guards. Jervis liked Colin. He had pretty eyes and a jolly laugh. Colin looked nervous. With all six guards ready to strike, the bronze-skinned hellion would be vulnerable if she took the offensive. None of the guards had any illusions that attacking in tandem would bring any better results, however. They were at an impasse, but time was clearly on their side.

Jervis froze.

That bloody nobleman from before had wandered nearby, and he had apparently gotten himself falling-down drunk in the meantime! Just what in the Maker's name was going on here?

"Ssshhcuse me, d'ye nuuu wr th'privy is?" the fool slurred, stumbling into Colin and grabbing onto him for support.

Colin staggered, off-balance, and angrily shoved the soused nobleman back. "Get off me, you bloody wanker!" he shouted.

It took only a moment for Jervis to realize that things were about to get extremely bad. He tried to bring up his sword, but it was too late. First Dace to his left fell to the ground clutching at his left thigh as blood erupted from a fresh cut. Then Rook, to his right, let out a gurgling cry as he collapsed after being kicked in the throat. Jervis lashed out wildly with his blade, knowing that it was his only chance. He felt soft resistance, and realized he had scored flesh. He could taste the familiar acidic tang of his own saliva as his heart beat faster from the excitement of combat. He pulled on his blade, sawing it across the wound and savoring his victim's grunt of pain as something heavy hit his ankle.

The entire world went topsy-turvy as Jervis landed heavily on his back. He felt all of his breath immediately rush out through his mouth and he coughed, trying and failing to breathe. Jervis blinked, looking up at the ceiling of the grand ballroom and trying to remember his training. Had the ceiling always been that pattern? It was actually quite lovely. The last thing Jervis remembered seeing was the heel of a brown leather sandal trimmed in a very pretty gold, yet streaked with blood, on a rather shapely woman's leg rushing towards his face.

* * *

"Stop it!" commanded the willowy elf.

"No, _you_ stop it! You got to do the last one!" grumbled Anders.

"Which is all the more reason why you should let Daisy do _this_ one, Blondie!" grumbled Varric.

"But this one is different from the last. Can't you feel the difference in the mana? Justice is pointing at it right now," asked the apostate.

"Just... ease up a bit. We don't need quite that much blood, the bezoar should be enough," sighed Merrill.

"Alright, alright. I think I've got it this time. Or at least Justice does," said Anders.

The dwarf shut his eyes tightly as the welcome darkness gave way to the brightest red.

* * *

At that same time, miles away, a small blue gemstone lost its unnaturally bright luster. If anyone had been paying attention, they would have seen it quickly fade from its vibrant color to a dull, lifeless grey.

* * *

Damn that woman! Everything was completely under control just a moment ago. Hawke finally had the opportunity to save the day through one brilliant master stroke. All that she had to do was get close enough to du Gaudet and steal his amulet. The man was in love with her… or at least _wanted_ her, and that afforded her a unique opportunity to get close to him and get her hands on the jewels. All it would take was a little acting, a strong stomach, and the right distraction, and she could put all of this unpleasantness behind them.

But nooooo, that foolish pirate had to go and muddle everything by misconstruing some minor bruises and abrasions from a perfectly innocent accidental murder attempt by a mad prisoner in a secret dungeon. It was nothing, really!

Hawke hiked up her skirts with both hands and pressed her way through the panicked crowds as quickly as she could. Thankfully, most of the people were busy trying to either get away from the fight, or watch it. The wary Champion pressed through toward her main goal, trying to reach du Gaudet before he realized that Isabela was going to easily put down every guard he threw at her.

A terrified heavyset noblewoman bumped into her in an attempt to flee, nearly bowling the slender Fereldan woman over. Hawke cursed a bit, but continued on. She dodged fleeing servants and pressing aristocrats, finally arriving at du Gaudet's presence. He glared in the direction of the battle as his guards continued to fall one by one.

"What in the Maker's name _is_ she? That gutter trash has got to be some sort of abomination, there's no other way to explain it!" he growled. He had apparently not yet noticed her presence yet, so Hawke took a moment to collect herself before trying to approach.

Eight paces away… six… four…

"There you are!" thundered du Gaudet.

Hawke froze, but a moment later she realized the lord wasn't looking at her. He spun and moved forward, pushing people out of his way.

"Nolan!" he shouted.

The lanky man leaned against a pillar, quietly smoking his pipe. He looked up as his employer approached, breathing out a small smoke ring.

"Somethin' ah can do for you, your lordship?" he asked.

"I want you to do what you're paid for. Fix this problem for me," he growled, pointing at the general melee.

The other fellow took another puff from his pipe, then locked eyes with his employer again. He raised an eyebrow.

"_Permanently_," du Gaudet barked.

Hawke bit her tongue to keep from breaking her silence.

Nolan nodded, unfastening the band that held his hand axe in his belt loop. The thin man exchanged a quick glance with Hawke, still behind du Gaudet, before striding purposefully toward his new opponent.

* * *

"Ah thought ah'd see you again," said Nolan as he raised both axes.

The bronze woman grunted in reply as she slammed the butt of her sword down on a hapless guard's neck. The poor man crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

"Ah can't say ah'm pleased that it's come to this, but ah wanted to let you know it ain't nothin' personal," the lanky man continued as he assumed a wide combat stance.

"The boss gave an order, and that means ah gotta stop you now."

Her eyes kept glancing from him to his employer and back.

In the split second when her eyes darted to the lord of the manor, he sprang into action. He rushed at her, predicting her high defensive cut and ducking beneath it. His right axe came up in a crescent motion, aiming for her leg. She must have seen it coming; she shifted her weight to her rear leg and the crippling strike missed by scant inches, but his follow up strike met flesh.

Spots of red blood decorated the floor. It didn't cripple, but it was a beginning. She reached a dusky hand down and gingerly touched the wound, gauging the damage and blood loss.

His opponent lashed out with her sword, but he could tell it wasn't her weapon of choice. There was an almost-imperceptible uncertainty to the way she wielded it. She was clearly stronger than any of the guards, and it would dance in her hands like the deadly weapon it was, but she was lacking a certain finesse that someone of her skill and talent should have. Her dress was darkening with blood from the small cuts she had sustained. Though the guards had been unable to stop her, they had done some small amount of good.

"Ah don't suppose you'd leave nice 'n quiet like?" he asked as he stepped forward.

She met his forward movement with a sword thrust, but he turned the blade aside and stepped into her guard. He lacked the range to fully utilize his axes, but it was a calculated risk - she wouldn't be able to use her sword either. Instead he balled his fist around the axe handle and punched her in the kidney. Her eyes widened in pain, but she smashed him in the cheek with the pommel of her sword in response. The two leaped back from each other, creating a bit of distance again.

He eyed her rear leg, which was clearly weakening. Rivulets of blood trailed down her bronzed skin, dripping onto the marble floor tiles.

"Ah don't doubt you're a fine warrior. You might even be able to beat me. But you and ah both know that'd take more time than you've got, especially since you've gone and started leakin' and all. Why don't you just give up?" he offered genially.

He got no audible response. Her eyes held only grim determination. He had seen that look before. He knew he had held it once or twice in his own lifetime. He idly wondered which would buckle first, her body or her spirit.

She charged at him, bringing her sword down in a chopping motion. He spun to avoid it, following up with a horizontal slash. She managed to avoid losing her balance, but the strike was far too close. He felt resistance in his left hand as his axe made brief contact.

The woman's dark hair became undone, falling loosely about her shoulders. He could hear the clatter of the little pearls that had been woven into her hair hit the floor and began to roll. He resumed his defensive stance, waiting for the inevitable to come.

"Lookie here, this is the real world. We're all just tryin' to get by. Ah promise that she won't come to no harm while ah'm here. She ain't no damsel in distress. You ain't no dashing hero, ah ain't no dastardly villain, just a man doin' his job," he said.

"And these aren't pearls," she growled, drawing one bloody finger against one of the remaining pearls in her hair. The crimson blood stained the white pearl, which suddenly began brightening and emitting light. She hurled it at the ground, where it immediately exploded into flame and thick, oily smoke. Another explosion came, followed by another and another as the pearls that had rolled onto the floor each ignited from the magic in the air and the ensuing cloud of smoke that sprang up obscured the grand hall.

Nolan was caught in the sudden smoke as the onlookers began to scream and flee. His eyes watered, and his throat screamed in irritation as the mad rush of confused and terrified people began. Someone slammed into him from the side, and then another from the back, throwing him to the floor. He struggled to rise, before he heard a whisper from his left.

"It isn't personal, you know. Just business."

A sharp blow came to the base of his skull and he knew no more.

* * *

Hawke put one foot in front of the other. He was in range. She ignored the sounds of combat as she heard metal clash with metal. She put the noises out of her mind. Hawke instead could hear Isabela's advice on thievery as if it were a whisper in her ear.

_Remember, sweet thing - half of all thievery is waiting for the opportune moment..._

He was still alert. She knew she would only get one chance at this. Suddenly, the whole situation changed.

Explosions. Billowing smoke clouds. Choking and panicking onlookers. A wave of burning, tearing eyes and a throat that felt so itchy that she wanted to scream. She held it in.

He was distracted. It was now or never. She reached a velvet-gloved hand out and wrapped her fingers around it. She tensed her legs in preparation to run. The Champion could feel the hard metal surface through the thin cloth as she yanked as hard as she could.

_The other half is getting away._

White hot pain flooded Hawke's nerves as jagged bolts of lightning erupted from the amulet and raced down her arm to her chest. Her heart felt like it was about to burst as the electricity tore through her, causing her muscles to spasm uncontrollably, and straining and tearing under her skin. She gagged and gasped for breath as she finally released the amulet, falling to her knees and coughing.

"I am disappointed, Champion," came du Gaudet's voice from above her as she struggled to breathe.

"I thought that surely the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall would not be so stupid as to think I wouldn't guard against something as simple as _petty thievery_," he continued.

She tried to rise, but her legs felt like jelly. She looked up at him defiantly, anger and hatred in her eyes.

He coughed, trying to fan away the smoke.

"You'll be by my side, Champion, one way or another. I don't care if it's on your feet or on your knees, but you will know your place," he said.

"Oh, she _already_ knows her place," growled a woman's voice from within the clouds of smoke. "But it's not by _your_ side, you arrogant monster. It's by _mine_."

The dark corsair emerged from the smoke, a bloody blade in one hand and a silk handkerchief held to her face in the other. Her golden eyes promised pain.

"Guards! Nolan! Someone, anyone, stop her!" he cried, scrambling back. "A thousand sovereigns to anyone who stops this demon woman!"

There was no response. The wails and screams of the sick and frightened guests instead filled the air.

"Champion! You've got to stop her! You know what will happen if you don't! You don't want the blood of all those innocents on your hands, do you?!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

Hawke rose unsteadily to her feet. She still felt uneasy from inhaling the smoke, and her legs felt like jelly from the effects of the lightning, but she stood to interpose herself between the pirate and the lordling.

The buccaneer was on her in the blink of an eye. Hawke braced herself for impact, but it never came. Instead, gentle arms encircled her and pulled her close. She felt warmth through the haze, and soft lips touched hers. She felt her knees turn to water as they kissed in the cloud. When the kiss finally broke, it took a moment for Hawke to collect her wits.

"He's got an amulet that will kill hundreds if you don't stop him. It will shock the life out of you if you touch it, and the magic will go off if he dies! You must get it from him!" she hissed desperately into the pirate's ear.

"Trust in me, Hawke. This time I've got _your_ back," came the familiar whisper in her ear, before she was released. The dazed Champion slowly dropped to her knees and the last thing she saw before passing out was the pirate's rear as she continued her inexorable march toward the lord of the manor.

* * *

He stared at her in muted fury. His hand rested calmly on the hilt of his rapier, but his eyes betrayed his inner rage. His upper lip was twisted into a sneer as she approached him. He took careful note of the blood oozing out of her exposed wounds, and the slight limp in her left leg.

"You filthy gutter trash. You've ruined _everything_!" he bellowed.

She didn't respond. Instead, she held her sword up in a loose guard stance and spat in his general direction.

The lord stepped forward, leading with a solid thrust. He quickly followed with a second, and a third, trying to pierce a vital organ with his rapier.

Isabela's blade leaped to and fro as the heavier sword parried each attack. She brought her sword in for a counterattack in a low arc aimed at du Gaudet's legs, but a twist of his rapier and he would change the path of her blade just enough to miss each time.

Metal rang on metal as the two dueled. His defensive skill with the rapier was an excellent counter to her broad, slashing strokes, but the implacable strength she brought with each blow was enough to drive him back despite his nearly impervious guard.

He could tell that she was slowing, however. She was faltering from the blood loss, and she knew it. He closed in for the kill.

"Oh no, you don't even deserve to face me. I warned her that this would happen," he taunted, reaching toward his amulet with his free hand.

The duelist tensed, watching carefully.

His steady gaze never left her as he pulled one of the gems from his amulet.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw him finger the first jewel. He lifted his hand to his mouth with a smirk.

"This is on your head," he growled, biting his thumb with even, white teeth. A single drop of blood oozed from the small wound.

She launched herself at him immediately, and their swords rang out as he parried her strike. She had hoped that her heavier blade would shatter his lighter, thinner weapon, but luck was not on her side. She could see the fine craftsmanship of du Gaudet's rapier, and she would have bet all the coin she had that her enemy's sword was enchanted.

"You want it? Catch!" he grunted as he smeared a bit of blood on the gem and tossed it at her.

She leaped to intercept it, but reeled back in pain as she felt metal pierce her already-injured leg. She managed to stay her tongue, but the agony was excruciating. She looked at the gemstone she had caught. It was a dull, lifeless blue, stained red with blood. She tossed it aside.

"I wonder how many of your precious wharf rats are killing each other right now?" taunted the nobleman. He reached to his amulet once again. "No better than they deserve."

She tried to rush him once more, leading with a fierce overhand slash into a low thrust aimed at his arm. The corsair put as much as she could into it, hoping to make him drop the jewel, but she could feel one leg buckling due to the wounds she had received. The nobleman danced to one side and easily rapped her blade out of the way with his rapier. His riposte caught her in the injured leg again and she dropped to one knee.

She screamed in pain as she felt the sword dig deep into her flesh.

He withdrew his weapon and painted a second gem with the fat droplets of her blood coating the blade. He dropped the gemstone onto the ground. It was a dull, red color.

The nobleman circled her, grinning to himself.

"Let's end this little charade. You never had a chance to defeat me. You're garbage. You came from garbage, you've always been garbage, and you'll always **be** garbage. Step aside and let your betters pass on," he said, raising his sword for a final strike.

"Come on then," she gasped. "That little corkscrew of yours doesn't look like it could satisfy a pigeon, let alone a real woman."

He gave a cry of rage and thrust his blade, starting low, upward through her abdomen. She screamed in pain as the tip punched through her flesh to emerge from her back. Her sword fell from her fingers with a clatter to the stone floor.

"As I thought," he said, twisting his rapier.

She gave a horrible-sounding laugh as blood dripped from her lips.

"Is that the best you've got?" she replied, grasping his sword-arm's wrist with one hand. She grinned, showing her bloody teeth. "I've had better."

His eyes widened in shock as he tried to pull away but couldn't. Her vise-like grip on his arm was too strong. His eyes filled with fear as her grin turned wicked. Her other hand reached up and firmly grasped his amulet, completing the circuit.

White-hot pain exploded in every inch of his body as bright white lightning erupted from the amulet and coursed through her body and into his. His eyes were blinded as every muscle spasmed uncontrollably, tearing themselves beneath his skin. His fingers clenched and unclenched, and he jerked his body back and forth, but it was no use. He couldn't break her iron grip.

She didn't seem to fare much better. Through flashes of sight, he could see her face contorted as badly as he felt. Her entire body was convulsing and twitching as she shrieked, the massive jolts of electricity ripping through both of them and leaving charred, torn muscle in their wake. He could smell a nasty, bitter smoke and it took an eternal moment of torture to realize it was the aroma of his own burnt flesh greeting his nostrils.

After a seeming eternity of torment he fell, still twitching, to the floor. Every inch of his body screamed in agony. He struggled to open his eyes.

The woman had fallen beside him, her gown tattered and soaked in blood and her muscles still twitching from the electrical onslaught. He struggled to rise, to find a weapon, to do something to finish her off while she was still vulnerable, but his body refused to cooperate. Every nerve protested and refused to respond as he lay on the cold stone tile. He could see the sword where it had fallen scant inches from his fingers. It would be easier than cutting a helpless deer's throat after his dogs had already run it down.

He managed to twitch a finger. He redoubled his efforts, willing his body to move. A second finger moved, then a third. His wrist trembled. He internally exulted, but continued to press his hand toward the hilt. He'd show the sow and the rest of the gutter trash that he was still the superior one. By right of his very blood, he would show them all!

He managed to get a finger on the hilt of the blade, but couldn't quite control his entire hand. His arm screamed in agony, but he pushed through the pain. He was superior. He would emerge victorious. He felt the velvet handle in his palm and nearly crowed with glee.

Fresh, lancing pain erupted from his wrist, and his fingers released the tenuous grip on the hilt of the sword. Impossible! The bitch had somehow gotten up before him, and had crushed his wrist with one of her knees.

The dusky pirate held a triumphant look on her face as he realized that her right hand was not empty. As soon as he saw, he noticed his throat was missing the now-familiar gentle pressure that he had come to expect from the jewelry he normally wore. His amulet dangled from her closed fist. One brightly-glowing jewel was still intact.

"H-how?!" he demanded, his own tongue feeling thick and foreign within his own mouth.

"You think you're the only one that's felt pain before? I've had cramps that hurt more than that," she growled, easily picking up the fallen sword he had worked so hard to grasp.

"You can't kill me! I am lord of this manor! I am Donovan du Gaudet! You wouldn't _dare_ kill me!" he tried to shout from the floor. His voice wheezed, and he gasped for breath.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," she growled.

"You're not? O-of course you're not!" he coughed.

"But when I'm done with you, you might wish I had," she finished with a grin that promised pain as she reached down and retrieved her fallen blade.

His screams echoed throughout the hall.

* * *

Hawke woke with a cough, briefly wondering where she was. Her mind had a hard time focusing; she felt muddled, as if she had just been awoken in the middle of a nap. The floor was hard and cold beneath her back, and she wasn't wearing her usual clothing. She lifted one hand and noticed the long velvet glove. As if a dam had burst, her memories came flooding back all in a rush. She tried to stand and almost immediately fell unceremoniously onto her bottom as she took a misstep in her gown and tripped over her own skirts.

The smoke began to clear as the voluminous clouds finally began dissipating from the grand ballroom. The cavernous banquet hall had been all but abandoned; several groaning guardsmen and a handful of nobles who had been trampled in the terror lay about the floor. The massive doors had been flung open, and the panicked guests had fled through them. Hawke rose more carefully this time, waving away the remaining smoke nearby. The acrid odor stung her nose, but she found could breathe more easily than before. She struggled to her feet, still woozy from the aftereffects of the shock she had taken.

A shadow crossed her peripheral vision and she rapidly spun towards it. She tried to quell her dizziness, and her heartbeat quickened when she saw the shadowy figure emerging from the smoke. She tried to steady herself, hoping for a friendly face but ready for a fight.

Relief flooded her as she realized it was Sebastian.

"Hawke, are ye alright? We came to rescue ye, though admittedly, perhaps not with so much… panache," he said, offering her a steadying hand. She took it gratefully,.

"Never mind about me, I'm fine. What happened to du Gaudet?"

"I canna tell, not with the smoke and all. Isabela didnae' warn me about _that_ part of her cunning plan," he replied.

She inhaled sharply.

"Wait, this was all _Isabela's_ plan?"

"Aye. We were all worried, but ever since you vanished she's been on us as relentless as a Tevinter slavedriver," he answered with a smile.

"But… what about the poison? She didn't… I couldn't…" sputtered Hawke.

"Aye, she figured that part out too. Anders, Varric, and Merrill should have disarmed the poison canisters tonight. They ought to be finished by now," he said.

"She really did all that?" asked Hawke, incredulous.

She heard a wracking, gurgling cough from within the smoke. It sounded like it came from a woman. Hawke desperately looked for its source.

A trail of blood led from still-twitching body of the fallen nobleman a short distance to the pirate's sitting, barely-breathing form. Deep crimson stained her gown, and her breath came slowly, in ragged gasps. Hawke hobbled to the pirate and threw her arms around her lover's slumped form.

"Isabela, what have you done? Why?!" she demanded through wracked sobs.

The pirate chuckled, then hissed in pain.

"For you, sweet thing," she said. She pressed something small and hard into Hawke's hand.

It was a small, glowing green jewel about the size of her thumbnail.

"Hold still, you wonderful little fool," chided Hawke as she summoned her mana. The Fereldan's hands glowed briefly as she touched the worst of the dusky woman's wounds.

Isabela gasped as she felt the magic begin its work. She raised one hand and cupped Hawke's cheek.

"I knew I'd make you come," said the pirate.

"I could say the same for you," replied the Champion, putting her arms around the captain and embracing her gently. A moment passed in silence, both women finally relaxing and sharing each others' warmth.

"Erm… What happened du Gaudet?" asked Sebastian, breaking the silence.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" asked Hawke. She looked at the prone villain's unmoving body.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. He's only passed out from the shock. He'll live, I promise. He might wish that he hadn't, but he'll live," the captain replied.

"What did ye _do_ to him?" asked Sebastian.

The pirate gave a grim chuckle.

"I cut a few things that won't be growing back," she said.

"You cut… but won't he come back for revenge?" asked her lover.

The pirate gave a wry smile.

"I didn't cut _that_, if that's what you're implying. I actually left his love baton alone. No, I just made sure he'll never be able to walk, use his hands, or even wipe his own ass without assistance from others ever again," she replied.

"If it weren't for the blood magic, I would have killed him," responded Hawke.

"After what he did to Jillian, to the other girls, to all of those people, and what he nearly succeeded at… I was tempted. The bottom-feeding filth spewer deserves every moment of the rest of his life," said Isabela with a nod.

"No less than he deserves," declared Sebastian.

"It seems you've neatly wrapped everything up, captain," said Hawke, putting one arm around the pirate's waist and helping her to her feet.

"Nearly," replied the pirate, leaning onto the Champion. "I think I'm about ready to relinquish the crown of leadership back to you, Hawke."

"Pity," Hawke said with a laugh. "I was hoping to see some of it in action."

"I might have an order or two left in me," replied the dusky pirate with a grin. "Let's go home and we'll explore that thought a bit more thoroughly..."

Hawke waited expectantly.

"Go on and say it. I know you want to," encouraged the Champion.

Isabela grinned.

"... in bed," finished the corsair.

_fin?_

* * *

Epilogue 1

The cavernous library was dark, barely illuminated by the flickering light from the crackling fire in the hearth. A barrel-chested man sat, unmoving, in a large velvet lounge chair near the fireplace. An aged maid lifted a goblet to his lips, but he sputtered and coughed.

He spat.

"Careful with that, you stupid oaf! What are you trying to do, drown me?!" he thundered. The woman shrank back visibly in fear from his outburst, but he paid her no heed.

"It seems your plan has run aground," a rasping, deep voice observed.

"Come to gloat?" asked the seated man.

The voice laughed a cruel, mirthless laugh.

"Perhaps a bit," it mused.

A moment passed in silence.

"You know the part I find the most amusing? You weren't even defeated by the mighty Champion, the legendary hero, the one you were so keen on dominating. You were defeated by her _pet_," the voice continued.

"Get out," growled the sitting man.

"Or what? You'll come over here and do something about it?" taunted the raspy voice.

"Out!" bellowed the reclining man, the desperation evident in his voice.

"Believe it or not, I didn't come to gloat," began the voice. "I came to offer you a new deal."

"Leave us!" commanded the sitting man.

The terrified maid fled the room.

"I'm listening."

"What would you give to take your revenge? On both the Champion _and_ her little scavenger of a pet?" asked the voice.

Another moment passed in silence.

"I would give _anything_," whispered the seated man.

"I was hoping you'd say that," answered the raspy voice.

* * *

Epilogue 2

"And… done," declared Merrill with a smile. She lowered her hands and took a deep breath. The light from her fingers faded and the red gemstone settled into a dull, dark color. She stood and took a step back, clearing the way for two nervous-looking elven servants to lift the barrel.

"You're sure that thing's safe? The last thing Madam Lusine wants is for us to be biting and clawing the clients in here, not without good coin being paid for it first," replied Lianne.

A number of young men and women, each dressed in various forms of revealing lingerie, had gathered around the foul-mouthed courtesan and looked on in curiosity and no small amount of fear. Most of them watched the barrel containing the poison canister as if it were a live cobra as the pair of servants carried it out.

"That really is remarkable," exclaimed Varric, looking over the group of girls assembled around the bar.

"That they're made up to look like Hawke, you mean?" asked Fenris.

"Yeah. It's an utter travesty," replied the stout dwarf.

"It's in no small part thanks to you, you know," said Aveline with a sniff. "Your tall tales have a way of spreading in a way that are… uncomfortable."

"That's why I said it. They should be paying me commissions for drumming up business!" he grumbled.

"Isabela was right about the last hiding place. I never would have guessed that the villain would have hidden the last canister in the brothel," chirped Merrill, joining the group at their table as the prostitutes began to disperse.

"They store a lot of barrels of wine here, it makes a good hiding place," commented Fenris.

"But it would suffice at any number of taverns or inns," said Aveline, frowning. "I had my guardsmen check, but we couldn't examine every barrel in the entire city."

"Nobody's blaming ye, Aveline," soothed Sebastian. "I'm just glad we managed to solve the problem."

"Where is she, anyway? Didn't Hawke ask us all to be here to take care of the final canister?" asked Anders, looking uncomfortable. "I never like coming here, this place makes me nervous."

"Anders, when will you come visit me again? Your Champion needs her _healing_," purred one of the Hawke-like courtesans as she passed, running her hand lightly across his shoulders.

"Yeah, Blondie. I can see why," quipped Varric.

"I went by Hawke's home to water her plants earlier today, but I didn't see either of them," mused Merrill, tapping her tattooed cheek with one finger.

"That's odd. It's been three days since we returned, and I nae heard from either of them," remarked Sebastian.

"Didn't you say Isabela was injured? She hasn't come by the clinic for any treatment," said Anders.

The gathered friends exchanged glances.

"Where do you suppose they could be?" wondered Merrill.

"Knowing the whore, she's probably dragged poor Hawke off for three days of non-stop debauchery," said Aveline with a disdainful sniff.

"Well wherever they are, I hope they're doing well," replied Merrill.

* * *

Epilogue 3

"I've died and been cast into the Void," wailed the pirate. "What have I done to deserve this? This is _torture_! I'm going to _die_!"

Her companion sighed and sat down on the large feather bed that the dusky woman was occupying.

"Come off it, you big baby," said Hawke, clucking her tongue. "You were nearly killed! Now lay back and rest before you reopen your wounds again!"

The buxom corsair leveled a challenging stare at her captor, but amber eyes met piercing blue ones, and the captain finally broke eye contact. Instead, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pouted.

"It isn't fair!" she grumbled.

"I just said that you had to stop any strenuous activity, and that means sex too. You'll reopen your stitches _again_, and I can't have you bleeding all over my bed _again_," replied the Champion matter-of-factly.

"Do you ever get tired of making sense?" complained the pirate.

"It's why you're put up with me," answered the Fereldan woman with a smile.

"I thought it was because of that ass," quipped Isabela with a grin, squeezing said ass with one hand.

"This isn't a good idea," breathed Hawke as she reluctantly let herself be pulled closer.

"It isn't a good idea, sweet thing. It's a _great_ idea," murmured the scoundrel, putting both arms around her lover's waist. She leaned in for a kiss, and Hawke did not resist. As the pirate's hands roamed southward, however, the Champion grabbed one of her wrists and forcefully extricated it from her rear.

"No sex," Hawke declared with finality.

Her lover groaned and lay back against the pillows. She looked away and reached under the covers.

"None of that either!" said Hawke.

Isabela nearly screamed in frustration.

"It's been nearly two weeks since you had to run off and do your Champion thing, and three days since I had to rescue you. I'm starting to get as rusty as Aveline down there! It isn't healthy to get this backed up, you're probably causing me some permanent damage or something!" complained the pirate.

"Just two more days," soothed Hawke, cupping her lover's cheek with her palm. "I'll need you at your best to find this maleficar."

"I've got your back, Hawke. You know you can count on me," replied Isabela with a grin. "Have you had any luck with those symbols?"

"They seem to be ancient Tevinter in nature… but they're so strange. Almost an impossibility, like storing an ogre in a shot glass."

"You'll figure it out, sweet thing. You always do," said the pirate with a smile. Her grin grew wicked. "But first things first… You know I'm going to bend you over and tenderize your meat until it's reduced to quivering jelly just as soon as I'm better, don't you?"

"I've already let Bodahn know that we'll be taking our meals in here for at least two days after you're better," murmured Hawke, rising from the bed and walking to the armoire.

"The way I'm feeling, you'll want to make it three," quipped Isabela.

"And you'll be glad to know that I've also made some preparations," continued Hawke, opening the armoire doors. Inside were all of the various outfits and devices that Isabela had always liked, cleaned, sorted, and ready to be used.

Isabela's face lit up.

"Are those the silk manacles I was looking at?" she asked. "And the drakeskin harness I wanted?"

"I went on a bit of a shopping spree," admitted Hawke.

"You know, I've never been good at waiting. We could use them _now_," suggested the pirate with a throaty voice. She squeezed her arms together, thrusting her chest out further.

"Not until you're better," answered Hawke, closing the armoire.

"Shit," cursed the pirate.

_Finis… for real_

* * *

Author's Note:

It's finally done! This story has gone on a lot longer than I originally intended. In the intervening time, I've actually changed jobs twice and had to move several thousand miles in the process. But I've got a job I like for an employer I like in a place I like, and I've finally managed to finish this tale. I hope that you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it. There were definitely parts that I had difficulty putting to page, and it took me a while to work my (and Isabela's) way through them. Strangely, this entire story began from two simple premises - to have Hawke and Isabela attend a fancy dress ball, and to have Isabela take the lead. I had an outline, I started writing, and it just sort of spiraled out of control. Some parts wrote themselves… several scenes at the gala, some of the scenes in the beginning, but the difficulty emerged in connecting them in a way that made sense. The characters wrested their destinies away from me, and forged off on their own, and this was the ultimate result. It's no small thing - Lionfish is around a hundred pages long in total, nearly ⅓ of the entire Snacking saga!

As usual, I would like to give a huge thank my prereaders for the editing process and helping me catch the parts that weren't working, didn't make sense, or even just the usual small errors here and there. In addition, I would like to thank you all for sticking with me all this time - it's been over a year since Lionfish part 2 after all, and I'm sure many people have lost interest or moved on. Dragon Age Inquisition is coming, after all, so I am sure many are preparing for that. I know I am. Somewhat.

You may have noticed that there are a few epilogues here… it's no mistake. The Snacking saga isn't over quite yet. There are more adventures to be had.

As usual, if you haven't gotten your Isabela fix, you can try reading her tumblr that she regularly maintains. You can find it at isabelaexplainsitall dot tumblr dot com. She always enjoys getting questions and tries to answer them in a (reasonably) timely fashion. As always, if you are interested in pre-reading for me in the future (once I actually have something to pre-read, of course) please contact me. If you have an idea or a suggestion for a tale, please send it along. I know I would love to see more of these two and their adventures.


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